Requiem for the Lost
by CouslandSpitFire
Summary: They are both exiles: Alistair, betrayed and almost executed, has reduced himself to a wandering drunk, while Aífe all but fled Ferelden after the Blight in search for anything and nothing. It takes time and trust to finally show them the way home.
1. Long Lost

**Requiem For The Lost**

**Chapter 1: Long Lost  
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The ale leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he swallows it, his fingers all the while caressing the now empty bottle. Its surface feels smooth and cold to his touch and he runs his thumb up all the way to its rim and then down again. The world is fuzzy and bleary and his head is swimming. He likes it that way. Sip by sip he slips out of his body, that confining cage of thoughts, and escapes the "I". It is not perfect, but it is better than the alternative. Better than remembered dreams that once seemed so close and not a whole world away. Definitely better than memories of a man long dead.

He takes another sip, another step towards flight and he knows that soon he will need to stop, because otherwise he will get sick and throw up and then the feeling is gone and he has to start anew. The line between not enough and too much is thin, very thin. In the beginning he often overstepped it, but now he recognizes it. Mostly he manages to stop just in time, balancing on the edge. Sometimes he doesn't.

Suddenly the urge to laugh grows overwhelming and he leans back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. The waitress swishes by and he grabs her arm, holding her back just long enough for her to stop, then he drops it. "'nother", he says, now chuckling, and she raises and eyebrow at him.

"I think you've had about enough, lad", she tells him with a scowl and he just laughs louder.

"'m the prince of F..Ferelden", he confides in her and the chuckles shake his body, "'n I want 'nother."

"Sure you are, honey", she says and raises her other eyebrow, looking him over, "If his Majesty wants another one, he'll get one. _If_ he can pay." The title is like a bucket of cold water emptied over his head and suddenly it doesn't seem all that funny anymore. He blindly grabs for his pouch and slips it out of a pocket, pulling out some copper coins he drops in her palm. He will have to look for work again. Ten copper for delivering a message. A hundred if it is outside of Kirkwall. Ten silver for protection. A hundred to fight. The waitress leaves then and he leans his back against the wall.

"'s true", he murmurs and grabs his mug, emptying its content with one big gulp. "'m the prince." He closes his eyes, just for a moment. The world is spinning, but he needs more ale. The thoughts return and rush back to him and he just needs _more ale_. "'m also the traitor", he adds then quietly to himself and sets the mug down almost gently, fingers still firmly around it. "'n the coward. S' many pretty titles…"

The bottle of ale appears on his table almost magically and he grabs for it, pouring himself another glass. One more glass and he can pretend he didn't sit down with his back to the wall because his warrior's instinct is rearing its head. Another one and he can almost forget how good he is at fighting and killing. A third one might stop the low humming of the taint in his blood. It never felt this bad back then. But he was another man then. A stronger one. Now he is nothing.

The door opens and bangs shut for the hundredth time and a gust of wind sweeps through the tavern, stirring up the scent of stale beer, piss and vomit. Such a lovely place. Such a _fitting_ place. For a brief moment he is almost disgusted. With what he doesn't know. Another sip makes it alright again, another sip and he doesn't care so much anymore. He's a prince in his kingdom of vomit and piss and disgust. A good place for the disgraced traitor.

_So sorry, Duncan._

There is the sounds of breaking wood and bones and the flicker of light on a knife and his hands twitch. His blood rushes through his veins and he closes his fingers around the mug. It keeps them from shaking quite so hard. That is good. His blood sings and his fingers itch, but he doesn't move. Screams and panic erupt like a volcano in the midst of the tavern. He hates this, this brings back memories.

Remember that warrior that one day defeated his first ogre? Jumped up and plunged his blade deep, _deep_ into its chest and then its gaping maw. Remember that warrior?

_Long dead, long lost._

Slowly, carefully he lifts his mug and empties it, bringing it back to the table. His hands still shake when he grabs for the bottle. People are fleeing, rushing away from the brawl. They are standing pressed against the wall or pushing their way through the crowd to flee outside. Some watch with a fascination that makes him sick. They watch laughing, betting on the winner and money changes hands. The noise grows louder. He can smell the blood already, feels the goose bumps that crawl along his spine until they reach his neck. He almost shivers, but resists.

Remember that bastard prince that once slew a High Dragon? How he threw himself at the creature, flames licking at his skin, his ears deaf to the screams around him? How he plunged his blade deep into its neck, again and again. How he was thrown through the air and with one final blow ended it all? Remember the moment of absolute perfection when everything was as it should be, when that bastard prince was for once the hero he wanted to be?

_I don't._

He looks up, slowly, and is thankful that everything is still bleary. There is movement, blades and cries. Fast, too fast. A man is sent stumbling, crashing into a table. The wood cracks and breaks. The man doesn't move any more. Another one goes down, a dagger embedded in his neck. Red runs down his back, seeps into the fine tunic, stains the floor. The fight doesn't last very long. Soon the shuffling ends and all that is left is a tall guy with a hungry grin.

There is movement at his side and his hand grabs for a sword that is not there. He flexes his hand. Once. Twice. The body remembers. It still doesn't know that _he_ _doesn't_. The man next to him sprints forward, pushing away from the table and knocking over the bottle of ale. His hand shoots out and he almost catches the bottle, but not quite. It clatters to the ground, but does not break. When he picks it up, there are only some sips left in it. He frowns.

The fight continues with new partners in a never-ending dance as they circle each other. He knows this kind of dance. The blood rushes through his veins and reality creeps back with unsettling force and he grits his teeth against the onslaught of memories. It is then that he flees, leaving table and bottle and mug behind. He pushes through the people until they finally relent and make way, melting back into the indistinguishable mass of bodies behind him. He staggers a bit, but steadies himself again. Breathing becomes easier as he opens the door and steps outside into the nearly empty streets and he pauses for a moment and lets the rain fall down on him. The quiet pitter-patter of droplets is hypnotizing and he relents and looks up into the grey sky. The water runs over his skin and it feels almost like a caress as it flows over his jaw and down his neck.

The moment is gone almost as fast as it seized him and when he lowers his gaze again, reality washes right over him. The streets are growing muddy and the rusty red stains slowly fade into the all devouring brown of the earth. His head is swimming and he takes a deep breath before he starts the way back to Darktown. The heavy weight of the dagger pressing against his leg is strangely comforting.


	2. Once upon a time

Her movements are wooden as she gets up, her limbs stiff. She takes her sweet time sitting up, then slowly pushes herself up and away from the bed and just stands there for a moment. The air is cold and goose bumps crawl up her spine, it makes her shiver slightly. There is a throbbing pain in her shoulder and her hip hurts as she shifts her weight a bit. She accepts that as what it is, just another well deserved lesson. It will take some time, but eventually the pain will fade.

As her gaze lands on the mirror, she takes a deep breath and resists the urge to look away again.

_Once upon a time..._

Reluctantly she raises her hand and trails the long silver scar that runs from her shoulder down to the swelling of her breast, the scar tissue only a thin line that belies how close she has been to death. Her fingers move to the ugly ragged scar at her side and she rubs her thumb over it in remembrance. As she reaches the intricate pattern of marks at her ribs, her belly and finally her legs, she lets her hand drop away suddenly. The bruise on her hip is still an angry purple, a sharp contrast to the usually pale color of her skin. The dark rings under her eyes do nothing to help her look a bit less battered, less crumpled.

The woman in the mirror looks foreign and her pale grey eyes are measuring, analyzing every inch of skin. She sees the scars on her skin and even those that have melted into her flesh and vanished with a touch of magic. Worst of all, she sees what is beneath them.

_Once upon a time in a faraway land..._

A sigh escapes her lips as she runs a hand through her hair and averts her gaze from her own reflection and pushes the mirror aside. She takes a deep breath and then starts to bend this way and that, to stretch her muscles and allow them to relax. It takes some time for them to unknot and even longer for her movements to become more fluid. Only then does she take up her tunic and slip into it, each movement executed with great care. There are stains of glaring green right next to rusty red ones despite the fact that she had been scrubbing it for almost an hour the day before. It is patched in several places and there is a hole at the back she didn't have time to mend yet. It doesn't matter much anyway.

Then she dresses in her simple leather armor. She pulls on her trousers and her boots and fastens the gauntlets with quick moves of her fingers, closing the buckles and sashes that are holding the leather in place. After that, she dons the coat of plates she has grown to like. The simple silver plates sewn into the leather are not too heavy and the armor itself not noteworthy. Each piece brings back familiarity and comfort, bit by bit, and that makes it easier to forget the woman in the mirror. As she pulls up her hair and twists it into a tight bun, she does so without really thinking about it. The movements are committed to memory and almost mechanical.

_It is just a fairytale._

She is tired, but there is no time to rest now. There hardly ever is. So she crouches down and touches her hand to her dog's head. He opens one eye and looks at her sleepily, his tail wagging ever so slightly. With a groan he gets up and stretches and then he puts his head in her hands. She runs her hands over his head and his body, feels the scars under his thick brown fur and finally lets them glide back to his ears to rub them between her fingers. The mabari utters a blissful sigh and licks her hands as she pulls away.

When she moves through the room, he is a mere step behind her and that, too, makes everything a bit better. She grabs her backpack and pulls out a poultice of elfroot, quickly and carelessly drinking some sips, before she offers the rest to her companion. He gives her a dubious glance, but then he relents and licks the slightly bitter liquid from her palm.

She turns around to the leather pack and unrolls it and the weapons it contains with a metallic clinking sound. Her hand touches each of them, fingers caressing the designs on them. They feel versant, a perfect fit against her palm. After short consideration she chooses a slim stiletto and straps it to her thigh, then she takes the long, slim dagger and the short sword before she covers the rest with the leather and lets her hand rest on top of the pack for a moment..

Then she slips out of the room with her mabari and they leave the dark and still empty house and walk through the streets of Lowtown.

She is wary as she moves through the shadows of the streets, placing her steps carefully. There is something about Kirkwall that makes her skin crawl. Its shadows are vast and deep and there is a tension in the air, that doesn't even fade at night. It is easy to hide here, to be just one of many lost souls. It makes life a bit less complicated, but at the same time it makes her uneasy, it keeps her from sleeping. It would be as easy to lose herself in the shadows as it is to hide in them and somewhere deep down she is afraid she won't find the way back once that has happened.

It has started to rain and the streets are emptying, merchants are collecting their wares and fleeing from the downpour, passersby hurry along. She doesn't mind the rain that much. It washes away the stench of the streets a bit, sweeps at least some of the city's rats from the streets for a little while. The drops are warm and soft as they fall upon her skin and soak into her hair. One catches in her eyelashes and she blinks it away as the sparse light of the day reflects off the droplet and paints surreally colorful rainbows before her eyes.

There is a loud splash and a happy bark and then her mabari is at her side, little tail wagging enthusiastically as he jumps around her. His nose feels cold as he pushes it against her hand and she cannot help but reward him with a small smile as she strokes her fingers over his forehead and up to his ear. He is covered in more mud than should be possible, considering that it has only rained for several minutes, and his thick fur is wet already. Despite this or maybe because of it he seems absolutely delighted by the rain and soon leaves her side again to follow one of the many invisible trails that call on his attention time and again. He never goes far and always returns in a matter of moments, circulating around her like she has her own field of gravity that never fails to pull him back. She looks after him for a moment and scans the alleyway behind him, almost expecting the glint of light on metal or the sound of weapons being drawn. Today there is none, however, and she is thankful.

It doesn't take long to reach the Hanged Man and when she does, she stops and listens for a moment. There is the low murmur of voices, but other than that she can hear nothing. She taps her hand against her leg and her hound joins her. He cocks his head to the side as he looks at her.

"Be careful and keep your head down", she tells him and he utters a quiet grunt. She enters with him close at her heels and pushes through the crowd of people flocking together at the entrance. Tables are pushed over and bodies are being dragged away. There are blood stains in the middle of the room, slowly seeping into the wood, right next to older stains that are already beginning to fade. Nobody seems to care particularly much. Money exchanges hands and a waitress scowls at the crowd as she tries to pull a table upright again.

The air is filled with the stench of blood and stale ale and somewhere underneath it all the sweet scent of death. She puts a hand on her mabari's head and moves past the people and leans against the bar when she reaches it.

"Varric Tethras?", she asks the man behind it and he looks up, barely registering her. "Up the stairs to the back", he answers and she nods her thanks. While she walks towards the stairs, she pulls climbs the stairs and watches a mouse scurry away. When she reaches the door at the back, she pauses and knocks and waits until it is opened for her. As she steps into the room, she looks around. She registers the crossbow sitting on the table, bolts lying all around it, and the staff leaning against the wall just to her right, then her eyes fall on the beardless dwarf in front of her. He doesn't seem surprised or curious at all, he just looks at her calmly and with a smile. "I've heard you've been looking for me before?", he asks and walks back to sit down again. He puts his chin in his hands and looks at her with the most unnerving look in his eyes, but she just nods. He looks like he _knows_.

_Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a little girl who loved the sea..._

"I need information", she says quietly and closes the door behind her.


	3. Faint Whispers

He watches the candle, eyes unseeing. The little flame flickers and dances, always on the verge of dying. It paints dark shadows on the wall and only then and again it burns bright enough to erase them again. He doesn't see, because he doesn't really look.

There is a certain rhythm in his life these days, a rhythm he can't and won't escape.

Every day when he comes back from the Hanged Man, he lights a candle and puts it on the small table, just out of reach. Every day he watches the candle and he says his very own prayer, over and over again, a prayer consisting solely of names.

_Duncan._

His prayer always starts with Duncan, his mind conjuring a picture of the man that meant the world to him. He always apologizes, over and over again until he isn't sure any more what for. Sometimes he apologizes for being what he is, sometimes for not being strong or brave or smart. Often he asks for forgiveness for not being good enough, for not living up to the legend and for letting a traitor triumph in the end. He says sorry for letting a man like that become a Grey Warden, a beacon of hope, a warrior of legend, says sorry for letting a _man like that_ be one of them. Even more often he apologizes for running away and not doing what was necessary – and then for falling in love and forgetting his place. Always he asks for forgiveness for surviving.

_Gregor._

At some point, he remembers them all, pictures their faces and voices and the way they sat together. It feels like centuries have passed since. He thinks of Gregor and smiles a bit as he recalls the huge and burly man, laughing heartily and readily and wearing his heart on his sleeve.

_Richu. Tarimel. Kell._

He remembers them one by one, every detail, afraid to forget. Some will forever remain nameless, for he has only seen them briefly. Other remain faceless with only their names remaining in his memory. He still tries to put the bits and pieces together. Richu, as good and brave as Duncan, a warrior worthy of being a Grey Warden. Tarimel, the best archer they had, swift and deadly and grim, but always patient and always calm. Kell, a small man who was deadly with his mace and shield.

He stares into the flickering flame that is dying more and more each moment and he remembers, because nobody else does.

At some point he normally falls asleep, but sometimes he cannot, because he recalls the way Duncan looked at him that very first day and nodded with a smile and chose _him_. He remembers the older man putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from his prison and he knows that he has failed. So when at some point the light dies completely and darkness covers him like a blanket, he still cannot sleep. It is one of those sometimes today and somehow the darkness always makes it worse.

He gets up and walks to the table, blindly, grabbing for one of the bottles he knows are standing there. He doesn't bother with a glass, he lifts the flask to his lips and drinks in huge, hasty gulps. The wine tastes like vinegar, but he empties the bottle and when there is nothing left in it, he throws it against the wall with an angry grunt. As the darkness creeps up his spine with cold fingers, he starts to feel the icy breath of loss and then, hastily, he stumbles to the door and rips it open. There is a bit of light, but not enough, never enough, and he pulls on his boots and leaves his room and the broken bottle and the darkness behind.

It sometimes happens. It will go away after a time. When he's back at dawn and there is just a bit of light in his room, he will be able to sleep, he knows. He leaves the cheap Darktown tavern – leaves, not flees – and somehow he ends up in Lowtown, aimlessly wandering the streets.

He knows well enough that he shouldn't be here, Lowtown at night is dangerous, even more so than during the day. He is too drunk – _not drunk enough_ – and he just keeps walking, stumbling at times. Let them come, he thinks with a smile, let them come and try it. Nausea is rising in him and he takes a deep breath, reaching out with one hand to lean against a wall. The world is out of focus once again and he shakes his head, once, twice. He looks up at the sky and watches the blurry glowing dots far up in the sky, wondering when the world might stop spinning.

Not even a moment later he finds himself on the floor, flat on his back. While he is still looking at the stars, blinking against the veil of dizziness that has settled on him, he realizes a few things quite clearly. He doesn't know why he's on his back, but he is quite sure he bumped his head on the way down. Also, and most importantly, breathing has become very hard and the pressure on his chest feels unnatural – and in addition something digs into his liver and makes him flinch. He groans and puts a hand to the back of his head, trying to get his senses back together, when he finally realizes that yes, he is probably hallucinating, because he can see now that a woman is sitting on his chest, looking as confused as he feels. He has time to notice her grey eyes are wide open and that there's blood on her cheek and then she tries to scramble off him, digging a hand into his side and a knee into his thigh and he groans in pain and blindly grabs her hip to keep her from doing even more damage. "Sorry", she mutters, again and again and then finally he can breathe again. Slowly his brain connects the dots – he is fairly sure that she detonated against him and is the main reason for his current predicament (and he refuses to call it any differently, because she surely had all the ballistic force of a missile launched by a catapult). He is less sure about the current intactness of his rips, because they certainly do not feel very good. He is _not in the least_ sure how it is even remotely possible that somebody so small can move with that much momentum. While he has never sympathized with trees in particular, he begins to now. Being chopped down with one mighty swing like a tiny little sapling does that to you.

She has not wasted quite as much time to consider the boundaries of physics or the recent happenings and is already standing again, casting him an unsure glance as she draws a little flask from a pocket on her belt and moves in front of him. "Get up!", she snaps and he isn't sure what exactly he did to deserve the ire. All he had been doing, was leaning against a wall and idly looking at the sky – and then _she_ had happened.

"What?", he managed and slowly picked himself up off the floor, an arm wrapped around himself, prodding for his rips for a possible fracture. She seems unsure what to do, moves a few steps forward and then looks at him again, before she finally turns to him and grabs him by the arm, pulling him along. "Hurry!", she urges him on and then an arrow clashes against the wall just a few inches from his head. They both whirl around and he makes out the silhouettes of five men in one of dark alley ways, quickly coming closer. A second arrow thuds against the wall and she pushes him back behind her, moving forward and throwing the bottle she has been holding. Glass shatters and the next moment fire envelopes the five men that were advancing on them. Even in his state, he notices the shaggy armors they are wearing and the symbol etched into the leather. He reaches for a sword that isn't there and grits his teeth, unsure what to do. The fire has only slowed them down, but now the men are upon them, shouting out their rage and still smoldering, and she dives forward without hesitation, slashing out with sword and dagger in quick thrusts and stabs. It is almost mesmerizing, the way she dances around them, cuts their legs, stabs unprotected arms and moves out of harm's way only just in time. She is fast, but not fast enough, and stumbles back as one of them knocks her back with his shield. Before he really knows what he is doing, he stretches out his hand and concentrates his will, feels the familiar flow of energy through his body and lets it build up until he almost cannot hold it any more – and then, with an exhale, he unleashes it upon the rogue that has moved in behind her. The man cries out and falls to his knees, clutching his head as the Holy Smite fully strikes him, but he himself feels pain lance through his head as well. He had forgotten that the backlash of a Smite is this bad, had forgotten that only with full concentration and focus it did not affect himself. As he inhales shakily, he drops his hand. He sees the sixth man far too late, isn't able to do anything before the archer loosens his arrow. Reflexes kick in, but too late, he feels the cold metal cut through his flesh. Groaning he stumbles back, resisting the urge to grab the arrow. It has hit bone when it struck his shoulder and is still quivering, making him grit his teeth as he sinks to one knee. The pain is familiar and not quite that bad. He is used to worse, so he pushes himself to his feet again and grabs the arrow's shaft, breaking it off with a grunt, so it cannot get in his way. His feet don't fully obey him and he sways a bit, his vision blurring for a moment, and when he can focus his eyes again, he sees that two men are already dead and with a clean strike she cuts the head off a third one. It's almost surreal how easily her blades goes through flesh and bone, the silver blade shimmering in the starlight, before it's darkened by blood. The woman is panting heavily, blocking the attack of a fourth man as she dances out of the way and places a heavy kick against the last man's knee. There is an awful crack and the man goes down with a howl, dropping his weapons. She jumps to the side and kicks a dropped sword into his direction, barely dodging and arrow, and then she moves in again for another attack.

He doesn't feel very stable on his feet – and it's only getting worse by the minute. He stumbles back a few steps, trying hard to keep his breathing calm and even. It doesn't even hurt yet, the shock and the alcohol numb his senses. He staggers back to keep his balance and another arrow hits the ground right where he stood just a moment ago. He shakes his head to try and clear it, grabbing the sword she kicked over. Somebody is shouting orders that he cannot fully hear through the buzzing in his ears, and the smell of blood fills the air. He barely has time to straighten up before one of the thugs is before him, bringing a mean-looking sword down in a heavy swing. Bringing up his own arm, he blocks the swing and pulls back to stab forward with his own sword. His opponent is not very talented – but he is neither drunk nor disoriented, which is a clear advantage. He is reacting and not even thinking. Stab, thrust, parry, move to the side, circle. Evade the swing, dart in for a cut, severing tendons and muscles. Only when the warrior is already stumbling backwards, clutching his heavily bleeding leg, he realizes that he is actually winning. He uses that chance and advances again, bringing his sword down on the other man's arm. The metal bites through the letter and the muscles, but stops when it his bones, so he pulls it back and swings it around again, cleaving through the leather covering the rips. There is not much resistance anymore and finally he sees his opening and brings the sword down on the warrior's neck. The man drops down without so much as a whimper and he stumbles back, dropping the sword he was holding.

He drops down to his knees, sucking in the air greedily and dips his head back. The stars are shining bright and dancing before his eyes and there is a faint whisper in his blood that makes him shiver.

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for the lovely, lovely feedback I got. :))) I'm really sorry this took so long, but I was changing this about a hundred times. At the beginning, their meeting was vastly different from what just happened up here and even so, I'm not 100% satisfied. I hope you still like this chapter, though - and as for Alistair... poor guy. At least he'll learn right from the start what kind of person Aífe is. X'D  
>I hope I will update more regularly from now on, since I got over the scene that kind of blocked my writing. As always, I'd be happy for any feedback on this chapter and the fic in general - be it suggestions of how to improve, things that didn't make sense or some questions you'd like answered. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)<p> 


	4. Dancing Shadows

She scrambles out of the blade's path, throwing herself around the last minute to swing her sword in a wide arc. Her opponent stumbles back with a cry and hesitates for just a moment – a moment that is enough for her charge at him and get close enough to make his sword useless. He seems shocked at her sudden closeness and then she brings her dagger up, burying it in his unprotected armpit and rips it out again, opening up vein and flesh. The shock doesn't leave his face as he falls to the knees and she steps back, eyes scanning the alleyway. There is nobody left standing, except for the blond haired man she stumbled upon and as she turns to him, he drops to his knees and lifts his eyes to the sky, almost as if in a trance. She notices the arrow in his shoulder and blood soaking into his tunic and she quickly walks towards him, putting away her weapons. They are full of blood, but she doesn't have the time to clean them now – more thugs will arrive any minute.

"Are you okay?", she asks carefully and his eyes dart back to her, only slowly focusing. For a moment she hesitates, blinks in puzzlement. There is something familiar about him, something about the line of his jaw and the way he cocks one eyebrow at her as though he wouldn't be on his knees, bleeding. "Not sure", he utters and shakes his head as if to clear it, "I'd 'bably go for no." His words sound slurred and as she leans in a bit closer to examine the wound, she notices why. He smells of stale beer and cheap wine and somewhere in there is the scent of sweat and blood. As she grabs his chin and makes him turn his head so she can get a better look of his eyes, the glassiness of his eyes gives her the last hint. "You're drunk", she says and crinkles her nose in disgust. "Piss drunk", he corrects her happily and has the nerve to nod, as though it is a big accomplishment. "Great", she snorts and lets go off his chin as she looks behind herself to make sure they are still alone on the street. It doesn't take her more than a moment, but it's enough time to decide that since she apparently broke him, she'd have to fix him. Somehow. Or at least make the bleeding stop.

"Alright, come on, get up! We're leaving this place!", she tells him and turns towards him. He makes no signs of doing that, so she moves closer and sees that he's watching the stars again. His pupils are dilated and he seems to have forgotten her presence again, because he starts to chuckle all of a sudden, flinching as the arrow is moved by the shaking of his shoulders. "What jus' happened?", he inquires almost casually and she sighs, shrugging as she moves to his right side – the side that is not pierced with an arrow. "Would you remember if I told you, anyways?", she shoots back and carefully lifts his arm to slip underneath it, putting one arm around his middle as she presses her weight against him and wills him to stand up. He complies, very slowly, and groans as he stumbles to his feet. He is heavier than he looks and she has a hard time keeping them both steady enough to not fall flat on their faces. "What're you doin'?", he asks full of curiosity, but follows readily enough as she starts to move away from the place. Being this close to him, she can say with certainty that there is also a certain flavor of rum and maybe smoke in that lovely aroma that has taken residence in his hair and clothes and on his skin. "Hell if I know", she answers and directs them down a flight of stairs into a dark alley. It is a short cut and the darkness envelopes them immediately, hiding them from prying eyes. She doesn't see very well herself, though, and can only hear and feel the rat that scurries away as they pass, running over her foot as it does so. He stumbles and she muffles a surprised groan as she has to keep him from falling forward. His shoulders are hunched and he blinks rapidly, shaking his head as if he is getting dizzy, so she quickly pushes him back against the wall and holds him against it.

"Don't faint", she snaps and prays that he won't, because there is no way she would be able to move him far if he did. "'m not faintin'", he mumbles and almost sounds as though he's insulted by the very idea. She sees the tremble in his body, as he fights to stay conscious and quickly moves forward, placing her hand against his chest and pressing him flush against the wall. "Hey, look at me!", she commands and desperately puts a hand to his cheek to make him turn his head towards her, his skin awfully hot underneath her fingers. He flinches away from her, but still turns his head and their eyes meet. "You are Ferelden, right?", she asks, already knowing the answer. The accent has given him away. She doesn't even allow him time to answer, probing further: "What's your name?"

He hesitates for a moment, then looks away and shrugs, immediately wincing as the pain lances through his shoulder. "Alistair", he answers. And then, his nose crinkling in a sudden fit of childish antics, he adds: "'n that's my personal space you're constantly invadin'." She almost laughs, but instead shakes her head and steps back, allowing him to lean on her again, as they proceed on their way. "Oh, how you hurt my feelings", she says and concludes that he isn't as bad off as she has feared. His answer is a mere grunt, as they slowly draw closer to their aim. "My deepest apol… ap'gies, bu' you'd have to buy me dinner first." Maybe it is the adrenaline or the absurdity of the situation or perhaps he has hit his head harder than she thought, but he starts chuckling again and she joins in, warily shaking her head. "Why're you doin' this?", he then suddenly asks as though she is in the process of stripping naked dance under the moonlight.

She is unsure how to handle that question and casts him a side glance, but he is still looking ahead, fully concentrated on setting one foot in front of the other. It hadn't been something she actually actively decided to do. "Would you rather I'd have let you sit there in that street until those guys' friends showed up?", she replies instead and he doesn't answer. The rest of the way, they don't talk and when they finally reach the shabby little house at the docks, neatly nestled away in some dark corner, she sighs with relief.

She raps her knuckles against the door as quietly as possible and whispers "It's me!" and then the door opens and she moves inside with him. They haven't even fully entered, when she is almost knocked down by a brown mass that is all wagging tail and curious whines. "Calm down, boy! Give me a minute. Just a second, alright? I'm alright, don't worry", she tells the mabari, who anxiously circles her and the man she brought with her, sniffing at his trousers and his hand and backing away with a sneeze.

She hears the door being closed behind her and then a blond elf appears at her side, his vivid green eyes wide with surprise and worry. "What happened? Are you alright? We have been waiting for over an hour!", he says and glances at Alistair, brows crinkling as his eyes land on the blood seeping through the simple tunic. "Help me get him on the bed, we need to stop the bleeding and remove the arrow. I got into a bit of trouble, I'll explain it to you later", she answers and the elf nods and moves to Alistair's other side.

"'m kinda confused", Alistair admits in that moment and now that she sees him in the faint light of the candles, she realizes how pale he looks. The adrenaline has probably worn off by now, but he still doesn't look like he is in much pain. They set him down on the bed and her mabari is instantly at her side, pushing his head against her, whining and sniffing the air. "'n just remembered tha' I 'bably shouldn't follow strange women home", he adds when nobody answers him.

"Well, too late for that, isn't it?", she answers and removes her belt together with her weapons, putting it aside quickly. "Nelaros, could you boil water and get some fresh bandages? Put some elfroot in the water, if we have any left, and then bring me the iodine." The elf nods and immediately moves to work, not without raising one eyebrow at her. "I think I poked into a bee's nest. One moment I thought I'd found the man and then I was being swarmed over my all kinds of thugs. Thankfully they were rather surprised by my fire bombs. As I escaped I ran into-", she starts to explain, but is cut off by Alistair's abrupt laughter. "Ran into?", he repeats. He has his eyes closed, as though the light of the candles is hurting them, and beads of sweat have formed on his forehead. "-our guest, Alistair", she completes her sentence, ignoring him as she grabs the iodine Nelaros brings her. "He helped and got wounded. I brought him with me, since there were more of those idiots to be expected", she finishes her explanation and carefully examines the arrow shaft. It sits high and has undoubtedly hit bone and she has no idea if the tip is barbed or not.

The tunic is ruined and has probably been for some weeks now, so she doesn't hesitate long in her decision and pulls the knife from her boot to cut it open down the front of his chest. His eyes fly open wide: "Helpin' me by gettin' me naked?" He sounds scandalized and even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to resist the urge to chuckle. "I promise I won't take advantage of you", she assures him and puts the knife aside. Nelaros appears at her side again, putting down bandages and an injury kit. "You are undoubtedly better off without it anyways", the elf supplies and then looks at her, the worry still evident in his eyes. "You should have brought Grimm and me along, my lady", he admonishes her and the war hound sitting at her side utters a loud, confirmative bark.

She is about to answer, but is rendered speechless when she brushes the rests of Alistair's tunic off his healthy shoulder. The way he moved while fighting and the fact that even this drunk he had downed his enemy without receiving any grave wounds had already been an obvious sign that he is or was a soldier. Maybe a soldier who fled Ferelden in the wake of the Blight, searching new hope overseas, but finding only more despair as so many others had. But as she is staring at his chest, she can't help but swallow heavily. She has seen her fair share of scars – she has some very nasty ones herself. But this… this is far worse. All the scars are healed nicely, but the sheer amount of them – slashes from claws running down over his shoulder, a burn stretched out over his upper arm, three markings left by different arrows. An almost imperceptible curve where a bit of muscle has been bitten out of his lower arm. A long and broad scar over his lower torso from a wound that could only have been deadly. And yet here he was sitting, squinting against the light, piss drunk and only slightly inconvenienced by the arrow in his shoulder. She hesitates to removes the rest of his shirt and shares a quick glance with Nelaros, who has come to stand beside her, a bowl of water in his hands. Only when Grimm moves towards the bed and put his big paws on it to prop himself up and carefully sniff at Alistair, she finally reaches out to remove the rest of his tunic. More scars are revealed and she does her best not to analyze them. As Grimm touches his nose to Alistair's cheek, they both jerk back and stare at each other for a moment. "Bet he's yours", Alistair comments and brushes a hand over his cheek. Grimm replies with a bark, sneezing again as he moves away from the bed and behind her. He has undoubtedly gotten a good nose full the perfume of alcohol and gutter and doesn't like it very much.

She rolls her eyes and tries not to breath in too much through her nose as she starts working, peeling away fabric, carefully prodding the entry-wound and formulating a plan on how to remove it. After just a few moments she notices that he is staring at her, brows furrowed as he leans closer until they almost bump heads. "What are you doing?", she demands to know and pulls back a bit, giving him a once-over. "You look fuzzy", he says as though that explains everything. "I'm not fuzzy, you're drunk", she corrects him and puts a hand on his good shoulder, pushing him back again.

"Hah. So you say", he replies and looks around the room, still squinting. She is pretty sure he cannot make out much. Shaking her head she gets up again and taps her hand against Grimm's head, making him follow close behind her. Nelaros turns around when she reaches him and looks behind her towards Alistair. "Are you sure this is a good idea?", he asks and she sighs and brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think he's a bad guy. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't leave him there", she answers quietly. "Fine. But you are bleeding too, my lady, we should look after that", the elf says and she casts him a stern glance. "Don't call me that", she tells him almost automatically and without really thinking about it. "It's just a shallow cut – first we look after him. We need to remove the arrow. I don't think there's any other way than to just pull it out, it's in pretty deep. It'll hurt, though. I hope he's drunk enough not to feel too much."

The words have barely left her mouth, when she hears a faint grunt and a hoarsely whispered "Ouch" and when she turns around, Alistair is holding the rest of the arrow in one hand, while he dispassionately dabs at the bleeding wound in his shoulder with one of the bandages with the other hand. "What did you just _do_?", she snaps and hastily moves to his side, swatting his hand away and picking up a bandage, pouring some iodine over it, to disinfect the wound and start to clean it. He flinches and closes his eyes again, taking deep breaths. She almost doesn't expect him to answer any more, when he finally raises his voice again. "Still don't know your name", he mutters and winces as she prods him to check for leftover pieces of wood or metal. She looks up shortly and wonders if he's already asleep, but then he cracks one eye open to look at her. "My name is Aífe", she says and he nods slowly. His gaze fixes on the candle sitting on the table beside him and watches the shadows dance around it, quietly mumbling to himself.

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**Author's Note: **Finally the next chapter. J Thanks to all of you who have put this on Story Alert and especially thanks for the lovely reviews! They really, really make my day every time I read them. I am still not completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but Alistair wouldn't stop being a smartass, sooo… that's how it went. I hope you enjoyed it.  
>I also want to apologize for mistakes in here, I read over it several times but I'm pretty sure there is still the one or other spelling error hidden. If anybody would be interested to work as a beta-reader, I'd be eternally grateful and happy! =) It really makes things easier to discuss a chapter and have somebody take a look at it. In any case, hope you liked it and I'm always open for suggestionsideas.


	5. Letters in Ink

_**5. Letters in Ink **_

_Dear Fergus,_

she wrote in carefully drawn letters and shook her head at how soothing the scratching of the quill over the rough paper sounded. After she dipped the quill into the inkwell again continued writing.

_I hope this letter finds you well. Grimm, Nelaros and me have recovered nicely from the skirmish in Orlais and Nelaros has regained full function of his arm. He sends his regards and asks you to forward his letter to his parents and give his greetings to the old smith._

_I have heard that your leg still pains you and that not even the Circle mage could help you – and that on some days, you can hardly walk. By now you should know very well that I have my sources and I will know everything eventually. Next time you forget to mention something like this, I will ensure you are properly pummeled. I can do that. Even if I'm in another country. And you know it! Fergus, I have heard of a herb far in the north, that eases pain in the joints. I will keep an eye open for it, it might help you. Please let me know how you truly are when you next write me, you worry me._

_I am not even sure whether my last letter reached you, but I finally reached Kirkwall. It is a dreadful city and I understand completely why you did not like it very much when you were here all those years ago. I do believe, however, that things have gotten even worse. I have been here for merely five days and already I was attacked by two bands of thugs at night, by a mob of street dogs that were quickly discouraged by Grimm's anger and even by a mage. I believe he might have been blood mage – his magic was very similar to the magic I saw on the borders of Tevinter and he cut his arm in several places to draw blood. From what I gather, this is no rarity in Kirkwall. It is rather the rule to run into a knife just behind the next corner or into an apostate mage fleeing from the Circle. Or, if fate decides to have a good laugh at your expense, into both at once. _

With a curse she realized that she had once again succeeded in smearing the ink all over the right side of the page, quite dramatically reducing the legibility of what she had written. She glared at the smear for a moment and then sighed, putting the quill aside for a moment to dab at it with the sleeve of her tunic. It helped little and only served to illustrate the fact that at the ripe age of 23 she was still incapable of handling a quill and ink with grace or even common skill. Her brother did know her well, however, and it was not the first letter he had to decipher, so she decided that he probably would not mind it so very much and so she continued writing.

_This city makes me wary and I cannot wait to leave it again. Yesterday I finally got an important clue and I am now sure that I found another group. I believe they are among those who went to Tevinter directly and were then brought to Orlais – probably they are even the very group I lost track of three months ago. I could not find any sign of where they were supposed to go, but I am sure they are here in Kirkwall. I already have an idea of where they are held, but I cannot be sure – and I do not want to foil my one good chance by being too hasty. There is so much going on in this city that it is hard to follow a trace, I find something under every stone I turn and sometimes I find myself wishing-_

She paused here and let the quill rest on the paper for a bit too long. The ink soaked into the paper and fanned out in a big blotch, swallowing the last words rapidly. In all honesty, she was not sure what she wished for. Many things and yet nothing that could be uttered so simply and shortly.

She sighed and put the quill aside to bury her head in her hands. It would probably be best to wait with all of this until she was done, but there would be little time left then and she wanted to let him know that she was doing fine. He worried enough as it was, she did not want to give him further reason.

She put the quill and the inkwell aside and got up, leaving the letter on the small table to dry for now.

As she opened the door and stepped into the other room of the tiny house, her eyes immediately fell on the stranger that was lying in the bed there. He was sleeping like a stone and not even Grimm's rather audible complaint about a visiting rat had caused him to wake, he had only grunted and rolled over to the other side, an arm thrown over his head and a leg hanging over the edge of the far too small bed.  
>She stepped quietly closer and could not help but look him over closely. He looked relaxed and was breathing evenly, but the shadows under his eyes had only marginally retreated and his stubble was far beyond a three-day-beard. As she systematically let her eyes wander over him, assessing the many scars until she once again spotted the dimple in his lower arm, where a piece of muscle had clearly been bitten out. Close to his hand there was a patch of skin that looked like it had been burned badly, but then healed – white markings on the healed skin still remained and told of pain and a long healing process. He was a warrior alright, she had seen him fight. It had not been very pretty and he had not been steady on his feet, but the movements came without thinking, he had simply moved with the blade and there had been no trace of fear. Even when drunk he had maintained a trained balance, had been swift and sure in his attack. And before he had picked up the sword, he had done something… It had looked like a simple hand gesture, but she had felt a disruption in the air, had seen the enemy falter as if struck by lightning and felt a throbbing pain in her temples for a moment. She could not shake the feeling that he was not a simple soldier. He bore scars that should have meant his death and was for sure not much older than she was – and there was something about his face… maybe his nose, she decided. Which had probably also been broken at some point, if the slight crook it showed was any indication. Perhaps he had been a son of a lower noble man – it would certainly explain how he could have afforded to hire a healer from the Circle. A noble man that had fallen in disgrace due to too loudly voiced opinions or perhaps a touch too much honor.<p>

She could feel her mood darken with the thought and quickly averted her gaze, unwilling to dwell on those thoughts.

"And yet here you are… a stinking drunk in Kirkwall of all cities", she said and shook her head. Just then he began to stir, sighing deeply as he stretched the other arm above his head and immediately flinched when he stretched the freshly stitched wound. His eyes fluttered open and landed on her, his whiskey colored eyes still hazy from sleep.

Within a few moments he was sitting upright, ready to jump out of the bed as his eyes darted across the room to Grimm, who was gnawing on a piece of bone, further to the table with the ripped remains of his shirt and then back to her. "What…?", he question with a hoarse voice and looked so much like a startled fawn that she could not resist the urge to chuckle.

"Good morning. How is your shoulder?", she asked mildly and decided to keep her distance until he had oriented himself again. His eyes were wide and he gently touched a finger to his bandaged shoulders. It was easy to read him – she was pretty sure he didn't even try to hide his emotions. He had furrowed his brows and kept blinking rapidly as if he tried to dispel the last remnants of sleep, confusion more than evident on his face. It took him a moment, before he seemed to remember what had happened and his gaze landed on her again. "It hurts a bit. But – what…? Why…?", he answered finally and let his hand sink again as he looked at his bandaged shoulder. He looked almost embarrassed.

"I do not know how much you remember from last night, but I stumbled upon you in Lowtown last night", she started and he looked up again, raising one eyebrow at her. Apparently he did remember that she was responsible for the bump at the back of his head. Technically, at least. Practically she was pretty sure he should not have been standing where he was standing. She decided not to go into detail about that part of the night. As she began to recapitulate the events that had led to the current predicament, he waved her off and shook his head. "I remember most of it", he said and again tenderly touched a finger to the bandage.

As she grabbed the bowl of water and a cloth, she cast him a glance. He seemed ready to run, his eyes fixed on her as though he expected her to draw a dagger and try to slit his throat any minute. With a cheery smile on her face. There was no real fear, but he was tense and his eyes never left her.  
>She gave him some more moments before she walked towards him. "I stitched your wound, I am sorry if it was done clumsily. I am not very good at it, but there were few alternative options", she said and slowly put down the bowl next to him. His eyes did not leave her, as she stepped in close. "I need to clean the wound once more, but I believe it is not as bad as it looks. I can give you a strong healing poultice, it should help."<p>

He seemed to almost jump out of his skin when her fingers touched the hot skin around his wound to remove the bandage, immediately flinching back from her touch. Whatever she had expected, though, was for sure not his complaint as he almost swatted her hand away: "Maker's breath! What do you have for fingers? Icicles?"

Aífe cast a puzzled glance at her hand and brought her fingers up to her cheek. They felt normal, maybe a bit cool. "They are of a perfectly comfortable temperature", she defended herself and he raised an eyebrow at her, one arm protectively wrapped around himself. "I certainly did not go out of my way to put them in ice water just to torment you!", she assured him and he looked at her warily when she tried a second time only to have him lean back just a tiny bit. "Don't behave quite so prissy. I am pretty sure you can suffer the horrible touch of my frosty fingers if you can rip out arrows that are stuck in your flesh. Hold still now!", she commanded and shot him an irritated side glance, taking his arm and pushing it to the side.

He flinched upon her touch, but let her proceed and held still. She clicked her tongue at him when she saw that one of her stitches had loosened and leaned in close to clean the wound again. While she worked in silence, Grimm abandoned his bone in favor of strolling over to them, sitting down right next to his mistress to watch her work with a quiet bark.

"You are Ferelden", he brought up after a while and she nodded without looking away from the wound. "So are you. Highever or perhaps Denerim?", she asked and hoped that maybe this was why he seemed to familiar.

"No", he answered, but did not offer more than that.

She was not perturbed by that and instead kept asking: "You are a warrior?" He almost shrugged, but then thought better of it and simply sighed heavily, before shaking his head in silence. "A mercenary, then?", she prodded him further, masterfully using her ability to ignore the fact that the person she was currently peppering with questions was not quite as willing to talk.

"On some days", he admitted and seemed to become increasingly uncomfortable. He was shifting on the bed and she had to grab his shoulder and steady it so she could tighten the loosened stitches again. It was clear he wanted to escape this conversation. "I should go", he said, eyes fixed on a spot above her head.

"You could, but if you endure my company just a little while longer, you will get a tunic to wear. It would spare you the torment of running through the streets of Kirkwall in nothing but your pants. I would have offered you one of ours, but neither of us is exactly your size", Aífe murmured as she bandaged the wound anew and made sure that she had done it to the best of her abilities. Which was not much, but more then he would have been able to do himself. "You don't need to do this. I'm okay. I'll leave now", he insisted and pushed himself off the bed. He was surprisingly steady on his feet and did not seem to be affected by the wound or the state he was in last night.

She got up as well and moved between him and the door, making him stop immediately. He straightened up, immediately shifting his stance and turning to face her completely. Maker, what made that man so very jumpy? Did she look like she would sink either her teeth or her dagger into him in just a few moments? While she was quite aware that at times she could do with a bit more dignity and a little less insanity, she was pretty sure that she looked comparably sane on this fine day.

"Eat first. We have some bread and cheese and a bit of butter, there is even a bit dried meat. Then drink the poultice. Nelaros will be here in just a bit. Sit and eat", she repeated calmly and pointed towards the chair. He regarded her for a long time and then finally relented, walking towards the small table. "You would not have gotten far anyways", she tried to joke and he stopped in his tracks, the tenseness back in his shoulders, one fist clenched. She immediately regretted that her tongue had been faster than her brain once again.

"Your shoes are still standing next to the fireplace. I put them there to dry", she explained and saw him relax once again. As he sat down quietly and began to eat she looked over at Grimm, who was still sitting beside the bed, cocking his head to one side and then the other as he was studying their guest.

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**Author's comment: **So, I have eyed this chapter for a very long time and changed perspectives, changed bits and pieces and it is as good as I can get it, I think. =) I apologize for the lack of action, but it will very soon pick up, that much I can promise and the next chapter is almost ready, so I hope you will forgive the long wait and that you are still enjoying my little fanfic. I wanted to thank you for all those lovely reviews and for setting _Requiem for the Lost_ as one of your Favourites and on Story Alert, it really makes my day everytime! I might very soon have a beta-reader, so yay for that. This chapter is still only checked by me, so there are probably some mistakes in here and I apologize.

In any case, let me know what you think and if it was too slow or you liked it, I'm glad for any feedback! And now, since it is 6am over here, I should probably be off to bed, finally! :D


	6. Midnight Visits

**Midnight Visits**

As he walks to his room, his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts are swimming in a thick fog of drunkenness. He has had worse drunken stupors, but then again – he's also had much better. The corridor is dark, and he puts his hand flat against the wall to keep himself from stumbling. It feels cold against his skin and he takes a deep breath to clear his mind a bit. His head is throbbing in perfect synchronism with his shoulder, even though he can barely feel it anymore. It has been three days since he left the dark little house in Lowtown and fled here to crawl into his bed and forget the adrenaline that ran through his veins, forget the ease with which is muscles remembered the movements. The wound is healed and closed with scab, the skin around it is still of an angry red. It will pale and scar with time and he is glad that he can now start to push the memory aside bit by bit until all that is left is the faint trace of a whisper.

His room is the very last one, deep in the recesses of a little tavern in Darktown and without even a single window. Only an airshaft nestled in one corner admits fresh air and a few rays of sunlight, mostly the room is dark and cold. He does not mind it much, he has a bed and a table with a stool and even a chest that might have had a lock in some distant past. It's good enough. It's all he needs. At long last he reaches his door, his hand brushing over the rough wood, and he pulls the key from his pocket, sliding it into the lock. He does long since know that only when you pull the door towards you and turn the doorknob just the right way and rattle the key a bit, it is actually possible to unlock the door. Considering the full value of his belongings, each and any thief who made it past this door would probably curse him twice and hope the rats would eat him. He chuckles and pushes the door open. Good thing most thieves were not stupid enough to search for gems and gold in Darktown – which was probably the main reason he was still in possession of a set of chainmail that was not all too bad and his sword.

Without bothering to light a candle first he steps inside and throws the door closed behind himself. He doesn't bother to lock it. The chances that somebody will steal _him_ are slim at best. As his eyes adjust to the lack of light and he takes a step towards the bed, he stumbles a bit and almost giggles at the very idea of being stolen. His thoughts are floating this way and that and as he stands there for a moment and then he suddenly sobers, the echo of a night long ago reverberates in his skull almost violently.

_Join us…_

Goosebumps run up his spine and he grabs the hem of his tunic almost violently, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. The throbbing in his shoulders grows stronger, but he ignores it and then-

"You are drunk again, are you not?", he hears a voice not far to his left and almost jumps out of his skin. Scrambling to get his head out of the tunic and free his arms, he moves back and stumbles against the wall. It takes him longer than it should, but by the time he has ripped the tunic off and thrown it somewhere – anywhere – he registers that what was said was less of a question and more of a statement. It takes him a tiny bit longer to realize that the voice belongs to a woman and is very familiar. After that, all the rest falls into place almost immediately.

His body snaps into action – straighten up – and so does his mind – lift your arm, ready to block – and despite the fact how belayed the reaction is – one foot in front, be light on your toes – and that the only protection he has is experience – steel yourself – he has no fear. He can make her out, sitting on the single chair at the small table in the corner of the room, one leg crossed over the other and her chin resting on her hands. It's the crazy lady from three nights ago, Aífe.

"Di' she send you?", he asks calmly and feels a muscle in his jaw twitch. She had been suspicious from the beginning and it was too much of a coincidence that they would meet in the streets and out of the goodness of her heart she would actually take him with her. The craziness should have been his first sign. The giant mabari warhound his second.

That _her_ word would expire had been clear from the beginning. Women like _her_ did not think much of honor and even less of bastard princes that could be a threat to their throne, no matter how little said bastard prince wanted to sit on a rotten throne in a rotten city to hold a rotten scepter or sword or whatever it was that kings held these days. He had simply assumed that his disposal would happen a bit later when he was completely forgotten by anybody who had once known him and that by then he would not notice it anymore, or perhaps that he would not care anymore. Much. A knife between the ribs or maybe a bit of poison in his wine. Either one would do just fine, he's sure.

"Who?", Aífe asks and her voice pulls him back into the present. She raises her head and stretches her legs, but obviously decides to ignore his defense position. He feels a tinge of annoyance glimmer to life in his belly at her casual behaviour.

"Please, let's no' play games", Alistair responds with a sigh and does not allow himself to relax. He feels the beginning of a cramp pulling at his thigh muscles and almost sighs again, but resists just in time. She is still sitting there and as she shifts her weight slightly, the chair creaks under her weight.

"This conversation starts to confuse me", she finally confides in him after a long pause and cocks her head to the side. He cannot make out her features in the darkness and only sees her silhouette, but he is pretty sure that she is raising an eyebrow at him this very moment.

To be honest, he is getting confused himself but he is not about to admit that. "Ther' are very few reasons someb'dy sneaks 'nto a room 'n waits in the dark, 'specially if swords 'n daggers are involved", he says and notices himself that his words are slurred. A careful look around reveals that she did not bring her hound or her elven friend. Unless they are hiding under his bed. Which seems unlikely.

"At least I did not bring my axe", she offers and probably thinks it is a helpful comment. Which it isn't, because he starts to wonder what else she brought along. "Wait, you do not think I am here to harm you, do you?", she asks the next moment.

"Well, you're certainly no' here t' open a bottl' of Antivan wine 'n share stories 'bout good ol' Ferelden", he snaps and feels his impatience growing, together with his thirst for mentioned bottle of wine. He is tired and slightly tipsy – only ever so little – and if she is about to try and kill him, she should do it now, because he would like to get it over with and go to bed. Preferably alive and relatively unwounded. But then again, the problem of his tiredness will be solved either way, he figures.

"I certainly hope this makes sense in your own head, because out here, in the real world, it does not. If I had the desire to harm you, then I am pretty sure I would have done so without announcing my presence. Or perhaps while you slept. Or while you where almost knocked out on the floor. Or while I bandaged your wound. There were ample opportunities. As a sign of my goodwill, however…", she replies and with a metallic _clunck_ two long fighting daggers land on the floor to his feet, quickly followed by a hunting knife.

He stares at them, mildly baffled, and then slowly lowers his arms again. Looking from the weapons to her, he leans back against the cool wall and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. "You still have one 'r two blades hidd'n", he accuses her without looking up and sees her shrug out of the periphery of his eyes.

"There is only so much goodwill", she admits and he can feel her eyes on him. "May I light the candle?" He nods and just a few moments later the little stump of a candle is aflame, casting just enough light to illuminate the table and her face while everything else melts into blackness. She is still looking at him, her eyes scanning his body bit by bit until they land on the already healed arrow wound and only then she locks eyes with him. He has the inkling that she will ask to be allowed to look at his teeth any time now to judge his age and state of health. Maybe she will ask for his pedigree. He snorts with false amusement. Well, then she will be in for a bad surprise.

The look in her grey eyes is unnerving – analytical and scanning, processing every detail they take in. She makes him feel vulnerable and he grows aware of his lack of tunic, folding his arms in front of his chest and shifting his weight from one foot to the other until she finally breaks eye contact for a moment to move the candle to the middle of the small table.

"So…", he starts when she says nothing for quite a while, "You're no' exactly assassin-y." She blinks ins surprise and then looks down to give herself a once-over, before she raises an eyebrow at him: "And here I thought the blackened leather together with the daggers would fit the image perfectly." There is a smile twitching around her lips and after a moment she continues: "If it pleases you, I could draw my hood over my head and try to hide in one of the dark corners in this room as I proceed to cackle madly."

"Haha", he says dryly and shakes his head, unsure what to make of her. "You ten' t' give yourself rather dramatic entries", he says and makes a wide gesture with one hand and she chuckles, her eyes lighting up. He almost stumbles over the words, his tongue heavy with wine and so he speaks slowly and carefully.

"And you tend to strip out of your clothes a lot – and yet I am not judging you", she replies then and he is glad the wine has already reddened his face.

"_Technically_", he defends himself, "'tis no' my fault. 't happens in your wake 'r 'cause you decide t' sit 'n stare instead of maybe sayin' that you're here."

"And here I thought it was because of my sparkling personality", Aífe says dryly and manages a wistful glance at the ceiling that looks almost believable. She is still sitting very still as if she wants to give him time to adjust and relax – he doesn't and is not planning on, though. Even though it seems unlikely by now that she will attack, she has no reason to be here.

"Why're you here? Why 'd you lock the door b'hind you? How'd you even fin' me?", Alistair demands to know and shakes his head, casting a quick glance to the door. He is not quite sure what to make of her and her presence here or how to proceed. There will obviously not be a fight to the death. And he has not even a bottle of beer or ale or wine or anything that would give his hands something to do. His heartbeat has slowed down a bit, but the blood is still rushing through his veins and his thoughts are getting clearer. He doesn't like it. It defies the whole purpose of the last few hours of drinking.

"I am sorry I entered your room uninvited, but I tried waiting outside. There are rather few women here, though, and sometime after midnight I was invited to accompany a man to his room. I refused, he called me a particularly naughty girl, one thing led to another and I broke his nose. The owner of this fine little establishment asked me to wait perhaps somewhere else and gave me the key after a few people started to look like they might want to take part in a little fight. I locked the door behind me, so as not to scare you needlessly", she explains.

"Well done…", he mutters and she wrinkles her nose at him, once again deciding to ignore that comment for the moment.

"In any case", she continues, "to find you was rather easy. I knew your name and how you looked and then I just asked around in the taverns in Lowtown, especially at the Hanged Man. There they could pinpoint me to Darktown and with a few coins of investment, I could find you quite quickly. From then on it was just a matter of patience – and so here I am now." As she talks she moves the chair a bit to the side, so she can fully face him. The flickering light of the candle is hardly enough to illuminate the room and as she moves, she moves further into the shadows.

"I came to make you an offer, I want to hire you", she tells him and from one moment to another all humor is gone from her voice. She looks straight at him and inclines her head slightly, as though she is thinking about her next words.

Despite the fact that he has to concentrate hard to focus on her, he slowly begins to register all the little details about her. As before her hair is pulled up into a tight bun, this time there are no escaping strands of hair and it makes her look very serious. Her armor is made of darkened leather that is superb to say the least – he has seen the material before and knows its Drake leather. The collar is made high so as to protect her neck and her left arm is protected by a bracer made of Drake bone, while other parts of bone were used to form little plates of bone that were then stitched onto the chest of her armor so as to provide further protection. It is too dark to make out more than that, but it alone tells him that she is no ordinary noble. Few are able to afford such an armor and even fewer know a smith capable enough of making it.

She has her fingers folded in her lap, but he does not need to see them. He remembers that they are a bit rough and that there is a small scar just above her left hand joint, almost invisible now. He does not doubt for a moment that the leather and bone she is wearing are from a Drake she herself fought – and that tells him all he wants to know. She is trouble and he should start running now.

He recoils and shakes his head, finally turning away from her, and pretends to look for his lost tunic. "'m no' interested", he says and hopes it will be enough to make her go away. But he knows already that she is not a type of person dissuaded this easily.

"It would be just tomorrow night and the day after that. I pay fifty silver straight up, as long as you do not leave before everything is done", she continues as though she has not heard him. "Fifty silvers is more than you can earn here in a month and all I ask for is your silence and your sword skills." She unfolds her limbs now and stands up, slowly. He automatically turns to face her and realizes that she is not as tall as he thought she was – she barely reaches his chin with the top of her head.

"There's a mercenary guil' here, they're called Red Iron", he answers her, "They'll be mos' happy t' help." Aífe takes a step closer and frowns at him, waving his statement of with a movement of her arm.

"I do not want to hire the Red Iron or the Dog Lords or whichever other band of thugs call themselves a guild. On the contrary, I need somebody who is not in one of those guilds, this cannot be in any official records of any sort. You are in no guild and you do not seem to have many connections here in Kirkwall – and I have seen that you can fight. Probably even more so, if you manage to stay away from a bottle for a day or two. I need a warrior, not a mercenary", she explains and while there is no sharpness in her words, they still sting somewhat. He snorts in response, finally spots his tunic and picks it up off the floor to give himself more time to think.

"Guilds always talk. Information is part of their business. They are mercenaries and by definition alone they will work for the highest bidder. I have had a look at the Red Iron and they are thugs at best, they will not feel any obligation to hold true to their contract once somebody with more gold strolls along. I have no use for a thug only interested in money", she continues when he doesn't say anything and he pulls the tunic over his head. Closing his eyes makes his head spin worse and he has a hard time to keep himself from stumbling.

"Maybe 'm one 'f those", he replies finally and takes a step towards her, using his height to tower over her. She does not even flinch a bit, it is almost insulting. "Maybe I jus' want gold, maybe 'm a thug 'n a thief 'n I'll sell you t' the highest bidder insane 'nough 't ask after you."

She has the nerve to smile and he clenches his teeth. "If you were, Alistair, then we would not have this discussion", she answers evenly and seems so very sure that he wants to physically pick her up, put her outside the door and close it behind her. No, scratch that, _slam_ the door behind her. Just because. She is too sure, too glib, too cocky, she is _too much_. And worst of all, for some reason she seems to think he is honorable, Maker help him.

"I do not know you, that is true", she admits when he keeps glaring at her and inclines her head apologetically, "I do know, though, that you are a warrior. I know you can fight and that you have seen your share of battles. You did not run away from them – or if you did, you are not very good at running away. I would have guessed that you stayed and faced your enemies."

All but the most important one, he wants to say and feels his hands tremble ever so slightly. He closes his fingers to a fist until his knuckles turn white with pressure, but he does not avert his gaze from her. "I know you are in no guild and you are not involved in any of the business here in Kirkwall. I have my sources, trust me. I know you like to drink and that probably more often than not, but that was not hard to deduce even without asking anybody. I know you are not part of any of the guilds here, even though the Red Iron as well as the Dog Lords tries to hire you. I know that you are one of the few options I have here in Kirkwall."

How charming, he thinks and it probably shows on his face because she rolls her eyes at him.

"Don't pout", she admonishes him and he takes a step back, away from her. He feels like he needs to be as far away from her as possible, but refuses to give in to the urge to flee.

"Maybe I am wrong, but I think you are honorable enough to keep true to your word and help me out", she adds after a bit, almost like a challenge.

"You don' know…", he starts to say. _A thing_, he wants to add, but instead takes another step back and away from those analytical eyes, from _her_.

"I don' smuggle", Alistair almost barks when he sees no other way out, "'n I don' steal 'n I don' do slavery 'r mage business 'r murders…" He would have continued, were it not for the look on her face. She looks like she is about to chuckle and he glares at her in the vain hope it might deter her. To his non-surprise, it doesn't.

"Good thing I do not plan any of that for the next few days, then", she interrupts him simply and finally turns to leave, picking up her weapons one by one and sliding them back into their scabbards. "Meet me in front of the southern city gate one hour before sunset tomorrow, bring your best armor and weapons and do not drink anything until then and until we are done. Tell nobody where you are going or that you will meet me. I cannot tell you the details just now, but I will explains things on the way tomorrow."

"I di' no' say yes 'n you're no' even tellin' me what 'tis 'bout", he calls after her when she walks to the door and she looks back over her shoulder at him, shrugging.

"I promise it is something very important and necessary. And you did not say no, either", she answers and he figures that she is either very selectively deaf or just a master of ignorance. Either way, he has not promised a thing, there is no need for him to show up. He can simply change lodgings and stay put for a bit until she lost his trail and-

"Please", she adds then when he doesn't reply and he heaves a very heavy sigh. Perhaps he could just have a look tomorrow and if it is something he does not like, he can just turn around and walk away. He is a free man, after all, with no obligations or duties. And he could use the silver, to be honest. He has barely anything left from his last contract.

As she stands there at the door and looks at him, awaiting his response, he knows that she is bad news. He has been in hibernation for almost a year and he was just fine. He knows how to stay put, how to forget, how to ignore the desire to feel the adrenaline rush through his veins and to hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He knows how to drown thoughts when they become too loud and how to forget who he once was. He knows how to run away until all that's left is him, at least for a while.

"'ll walk you home", he hears himself say and moves before he can so much as stop himself. "Darktown's no' a good place t' be at night." She smiles at him and opens the door, slightly pulling out one of her daggers for effect. "Do not worry about me. I can take care of myself", she assures him, "Just be there tomorrow and be ready for a fight. Good night, Alistair."

With that she slips out, the door falling closed behind her and he is left alone in his room. He feels the anticipation, can hear his blood sing and he knows he is in trouble. Real trouble.

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**Author's comment: **

Finally the next chapter. =) I worked over it quite a few times, trying to get Aífe's tone right and keep everything believable. I hope that I could manage that it the chapter makes sense as I put it and you enjoyed it. I want to thank **Emma** and **Freja** for reading over this for me! Thank you so much, your support is worth so much for me! And special thanks to **Emma** for helping me choose the chapter title! :D  
>I would be very happy for any constructive critisim, suggestions and discussion! Let me know what you think of this chapter and whether you're actually a bit curious as to what Aífe is up to. Thanks for reading and thanks to everybody favouriting and following these and my others stories. :) Thank you so much, you make my day!<strong><br>**


	7. Tracks in the Sand

**Chapter 7: Tracks in the Sand**

The Wounded Coast was a maze at best and at worst a trap made by ill-natured little gnomes to capture dimwitted idiots traipsing around the coast at night in search for a single specific cave. Unfortunately, Aífe herself was starting to believe that she was such a dimwitted idiot. How else could she explain that despite a map and so-called reliable information, she was still in search of her query after almost three hours of scrambling through thickets and etching her way around stone formations?

She kept her head low as she carefully crept through a thicket that covered yet another cave entrance, more out of habit than out of the fear of being seen. There were not lights, no smell and no sounds. As she moved forward and crouched down at the entrance of the cave, she was almost immediately engulfed by shadows. The ground was sandy and wet and as she had expected, she found no human tracks – only a fox had passed several times in the last few days.

With a sigh she retraced her steps and followed the trail back she had come up, annoyance rising in her more and more. The dim shine of the stars and the sliver of moon that was visible tonight illuminated the tracks enough for her to see, but would at the same time conceal her until the very last moment from prying eyes. At the same time, however, it made the search even more difficult. Her hope rested in Grimm, who she had sent out to scout ahead and who would smell and hear any person in their surroundings long before she would detect any sign of them.

She fell into a slow trot, impatient to return to the others in hopes that they had found any traces. As she rounded a corner in the trail, she could make out a figure in the distance, sitting on a stone and looking out over the sea. She had not anticipated to meet up with them quite so fast. Coming to a halt she put her hand on the hilt of her dagger and only when she recognized Alistair, did she drop it again.

To her surprise he suddenly stood up and turned to face her, even though she was still quite a bit away from him and she had been sure she made no sound and was still concealed in the shadows of the overhanging slope. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she had accidently revealed herself, but then crossed the distance between them.

"I think it is time for answers", Alistair said when she was close enough. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at her sternly. She noticed that the breeze blowing in from the sea had brought a bit of color to his cheeks and made him look slightly less of… well, of a drunk. His eyes were bloodshot and he had not shaved in days – perhaps out of laziness or protest or maybe he did not even possess a mirror. Had she not seen how steady he was on his feet and smelt no alcohol on him, she would have thought he was drunk again. She had even thought of sending him home when he had shown up – so late that she had not even expected him to come anymore.

Looking around him she could find no trace of Nelaros and cast the warrior blocking her path a speculative glance: "I take it Nelaros has gone ahead to see if he can find anything on the lower trails?" Alistair nodded curtly and seemed to get impatient. "Yes, and I wanted to talk. I want answers", he demanded once more and drew his eyebrows together in irritation.

She inclined her head in a nod and was unable to completely contain the grin that was tugging on her lips. "You have waited surprisingly long to ask the questions. They have been bothering you since we arrived at the coast", she commented. He shrugged as a way of answering and did not let her out of his eyes as she moved around him, to sit down on the stone he had occupied previously. "I was not sure you would come tonight", she said and he finally adverted his gaze. "I wasn't sure either", he murmured.

"You said this was no bad business", he reminded her then and she thought it sounded a bit like a challenge, like he expected her to bring out the shackles right there and then and handcuff the first best innocent passersby she could find. Perhaps he was fully anticipating her to subject somebody to insufferable torments anytime soon? "It is not", she affirmed, "I am here on a quest of sorts, one that is very important to me."

"Can you be any more secretive?", the warrior asked, throwing his arms in the air in indignation. "You said there will be answers once we are here and I have been patient until now. We are searching for some sort of cave and have to be very quiet and very secret about it, alright. We are to swoop out of the shadows, fine. So, let me ask once more: Why are we swooping?"

She chuckled at his words and shook her head at him, putting her arms on her knees to lean forward as she regarded him. "You almost sound like you are not very fond of swooping", she said and her smile faded when she saw his expression become more guarded, as though she had said something wrong. "Yes… Swooping is bad", he answered slowly, as if his thoughts had wandered off, but he kept looking at her imploringly.

With a sigh she leaned back and pondered the best way to address this all, without making a novel out of it and loosing herself in her memories at such an unfitting time. "Where in Ferelden are you from?", she finally started and his expression became exasperated. "Bear with me just a bit longer, I just need to know what you know and where I need to start", she said and offered him a smile.

"I was born in Redcliffe. I have travelled quite a bit since then. I have a grasp of Ferelden's history, geography and recent happenings, if that is your concern. Just talk, I'll ask if I don't understand something", he answered and she nodded.

"I am from Highever and when the Blight started, almost all soldiers were marched to Ostagar", she explained and watched him closely. At the mention of Ostagar he averted his gaze briefly, but showed otherwise no reaction. He had probably been there, she concluded, it would explain his scars. "After Mac Tir declared himself regent, he put the Arl of Amaranthine in charge of the Teynrir of Highever, as you probably have heard. To make things short – this was not a decision very well received and various Banns and lords protested. They were hanged as traitors." She dissected the topic and tried to concentrate on the basics, unwilling to dwell on any of the details at the moment. A hard glint had appeared in his eyes and he averted his eyes again, a muscle in his jaw twitching. She registered the way he had stiffened and wondered if he knew more about this all then she had assumed. He was not from Highever, of that she was sure – she would have heard it in his accent if he were.

"A civil war broke out in the North and it lasted until the Arl was killed in Denerim and Mac Tir no longer bothered sending troops to fight the rebellion", she continued and Alistair nodded curtly. "Some weeks before it all ended… Well, people vanished. Servants that had been ordered to the castle – elves from the Alienage, girls from the farms, stable boys, even grown warriors. Only after order was restored, we found out they had been sold into slavery and been shipped off. I assume they needed more money for war and they had full control of the castle and the harbors – nobody could stop them at the time, really. Nobody even knew until we found some remnants of records."

She watched him closely when he looked at her again and saw a bitter smile appear on his lips as he shook his head. He was not very good at hiding his feelings, it was easy to read him. There had been surprise beneath that anger and he had opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. They remained like that before he finally spoke. "I thought Loghain only did that in the Denerim Alienage."

He spoke the name like a curse that he rarely used – careful in the pronunciation, painfully controlled. Once again she wondered, how much he knew. The wheels in her head kept turning. A soldier under Mac Tir's command? Perhaps even a captain? Perhaps just a conscripted soldier or one that had barely escaped Ostagar only to be hunted by Darkspawn and other tainted creatures? It was not use pondering it now.

"Many do, what happened in Highever is less well known. They did it very cleverly – small groups, no information leeks, no warnings. Almost no records. Whoever knew too much, was either paid for silence or killed. Denerim was full of people that still held power – Highever was utterly at their mercy", she answered him. The words tasted bitter in her mouth and she was quick to focus on something else – the chirring of a few hidden crickets, the smell of the sea, the closed flowers swaying in the wind. Only when she looked down at her hands did she notice, that she had buried her fingernails in the skin of her palms, leaving angry red marks. She folded her arms in front of her chest and looked up at Alistair.

"Since almost a year now I have been looking for those people. I have been in Orlais, in Tevinter and the Free Marches. Some I could free, others were already dead. Those I could find and free I sent back to Ferelden. I came to Kirkwall, because I had tracked down yet another group that had been sold to Tevinter first, but then some were sold yet again and arrived here some days ago. Kirkwall is… a popular harbor for such business. I have found out that they are hidden here on the coast and that they will be shipped to Antiva very soon. They are children – none older than ten years. That is why we are here. I want to get them back to Ferelden. I could not tell you this earlier, the more anybody knew, the higher the risk somebody would get wind of this and they would be shipped off before I could get to them", she ended finally.

He was quiet for a while, processing the information. His gaze wandered as he tried to come to term with what had been said – to a stone at their feet, her eyes and then off into the distance. Then, finally, he asked: "Why me?" She could see that he really seemed bothered by that question and stood up, dusting off her bottom. "I stumbled upon you", she answered and shrugged.

By his expression she could tell she found her own joke far more amusing than he did. Pity. It was one of her better ones. "You are Ferelden, you are a warrior, you are in no guild, you don't seem overly fond of money. What more can I ask for?", she tried again with marginally more success. He still did not seem fully satisfied, but she could truly not offer him more than that because there was little more to it.

"Logic would be a good start", he mumbled and she decided to not get offended. She had been accused of a lack of logic or generally smart behavior at various points of her life and she liked to think she had proven those accusations wrong in most cases. Not all, but then – who was entirely sane anyways?

Grimm's arrival saved her from an answer. He came running towards them, sliding down the overhanging slope and finally stopping at her feet with a huff. There were burrs in his fur and one ear was bent backwards, showing the pink inside. "You found something?", she asked and he huffed quietly in an affirmative. As she bent forward to fold the Mabari's ear back to its natural position and remove at least the biggest burrs, she could see Nelaros coming up the trail in a slow jog.

"Grimm found a cave up ahead, it is close to the water. There is a fire at the cave entrance and I saw two sentries positioned at the outside, it might be what we are looking for. It fits the map we got roughly", the elf reported and she nodded. "Good, about time. Let us move fast, it must be almost midnight and most of them are hopefully asleep by now. We will have to be quiet – the last we want is to alarm whoever is inside!"

They had to follow a thin trail that was barely visible now at night for quite a time with Grimm leading the way, until finally the Mabari slowed down and came to a complete halt behind a high rock formation. Following his gaze, Aífe motioned for the three of them to wait for her there and etched her way forward until she could see the entrance of a cave not far from them. It was situated below a slope and a fire was built in the cave entrance. She could see one man sitting close to it and another one who was standing a few feet away, gazing out at the sea. Waiting for a few moments she listened quietly, but they were not speaking and she could hear only the crackling of the wood in the fire. Both had dark skin, but otherwise looked quite different – one had shaggy brown hair, the other one had black curls and equally dark tattoos on his face. They wore standard leather armor and standard weapons, as far as she could tell, and seemed alert. Too bad. No sleeping sentries tonight, it seemed.

She moved back silently and returned to the others, crouching down in front of Grimm in order to cradle his head between her hands. "Just two outside?", she whispered and he answered with a low hum. "More inside?" Again the hum. Looking up at the two men, she motioned for Nelaros to draw his weapons. "I distract the guards and try to dispatch them.

Keep yourself hidden for the moment – and if you see a good chance, feel free to take one off my hands", she said in a low tone and saw Alistair furrow his brows out of the corner of her eye.

"How do you know they are the slavers?", he asked quietly but obviously upset and she drew up one eyebrow. "They hold guard in front of a cave at midnight at the Wounded Coast close to the water, wearing armor and some mean-looking daggers. I am pretty sure they are not here on a field-trip with the Chantry", she answered in a whisper.

"They could be homeless or refugees", Alistair insisted and she could see Nelaros casting her a troubled look. Jeez. Somebody was being awfully social today.

"Then they are very well fed and equipped homeless refugees", she retorted, "I will not kill them, if I can avoid it. Should it turn out they are harmless little fishermen that got lost on their way home, I will apologize and even look sincere about it." Both men looked not completely satisfied, but at least Nelaros nodded and took his bow off his shoulders, testing the string. "Once they are unconscious, you will move down – quietly – and bind them. I will move into the cave, you will wait for my sign before you follow me into it", she instructed. "Sign?", Alistair asked and she pointed at Grimm, who happily wagged his tail. "He will be the sign. Stay put, Grimm, until you hear the signal. Boys, keep ready."

With those words she moved in a wide circle around the upper slopes of the cave and circled around so she could advance on the guards from the other side, where she had seen ample cover. It took her a while until she had quietly moved into position, as she had hesitated when the standing guard had looked into her direction, hand on his sword's hilt. Finally, when she was close enough and hidden behind a boulder, she took a flask from her belt, carefully opening it and pouring the content over the blade of her hunting knife into it, before she also poured a bit of it over her left gloved hand. Only when she had put the flask away did she take a rock and throw it somewhere behind her in the bushes.

The rustling immediately set the two guards on alert and they pulled their weapons. Flexing her muscles she got ready, moving deeper into the shadow. She heard them talk – Orlesian? No. Antivan, she thought – and only after she threw a second stone, one guard slowly walked along the trail to inspect what he had heard. He was very careful and moved slowly, and she could almost feel the eyes of the other one scanning the surroundings. There was sound from the other side, probably Nelaros' doing. A quick glance showed her that they were not looking at her anymore and she darted out of her hiding spot, pressing her hand over one man's mouth and pulling him back with her, already slashing his arms in several places with her hunting knife. Biting back a grunt she endured his trashing, wincing when his elbow hit her rips and he kicked hard against one of her legs. He was strong and she had a hard time holding him contained and quiet. Thankfully the poison worked fast once it was in his blood stream and within moments he stopped moving. Scrambling to her feet, she moved out of the cover and found the other guard to be already stumbling about, eyes rolling back in their sockets and his brow dripping blood. Darting forward she grabbed him and pulled him away from the fire into the darkness, hand pressed over his mouth and nose, while she quickly slashed his skin with her knife. He went out like a candle and she put him down, anxiously waiting for any sound or movement from within the cave. When moments had passed without, she stood up and carefully moved to the entrance. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears and she prayed that nobody had heard or seen anything. Killing them would have been much easier and smoother, but Alistair was right. She could not be sure they were the slavers until she actually saw the children. Still, she had little doubt. She knew she was getting close now. Taking a deep breath she moved into the cave.

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**Author's Comment**: Thanks again for all of you who follow this story. =) I am not utterly satisfied with the chapter title yet, but didn't want anything too epic, as there'll be much more important chapters in the future. Sooo... title is subject to change, if my brain can come up with something better!  
>In any case, I have finished my Master degree now (\o YAY!) and from now and have something such as freedom! So I hope that updates will follow more regularly now - especially since we're getting a bit closer to the actual plot of my story. I hope you can enjoy this chapter and that you find the set-up at least somewhat interesting; it is never mentioned in game like this, but it only makes sense to me - and it explains one of the reasons why Aífe is actually in Kirkwall of all places and what she's up to! As for Alistair... he doesn't know the half of what he's gotten himself into yet. :D  
>There will be many ill-natured gnomes at work! Hehehe!<br>I do still, however, lack a beta who is willing to dissect my work and check for spelling/typing errors and also for parts and bits that lack logic. If anybody is interested, please let me know. At this point I want to thank **Emma** again for actually taking the time to read through this and assure me that it's good enough to upload. Thanks!  
>That being said, please feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter, how to improve my writing and storytelling and whatever else you feel you want to say, I'm happy for any and all reviewsfeedback! Chapter 8 should be up soon! X'3


	8. Awakening

**Chapter 8: Awakening**

Nelaros was faster than Alistair would have thought – the elf nimbly climbed over one of the rocks and then made his way down the slop almost soundless. The elf was only as tall as Aífe herself, but doubtlessly stronger, if his broad shoulders and muscled arms were any indication. As Alistair made his way down to join him, he studied the man, who had already pulled a rope from his pack and started to bind the wrists and legs of the guards. He worked fast and in just a few moments the work was done and together the two men carried the guards off the path, hiding them in the thicket so they could not be spotted quite as easily.

Grimm had taken position at the mouth of the cave, ears perked and without adverting his eyes for even a moment, as if he could hardly contain himself from following his mistress immediately.

"You are an archer?", Alistair asked Nelaros after a few moments and felt stupid the very next second. The man was carrying a bow. What else could he be? A dwarven berserker?

"Actually, I am a smith", the elf replied to his surprise quietly, but with a kind smile. He took the bow from his shoulders and almost tenderly tested the strength of the string. The bow was of fine craftsmanship and Alistair could feel the magic that had been woven into the wood. "I just happen to have good eyes and a strong arm and so I also function as an archer occasionally."

Alistair nodded and watched the elf, who turned to look at him with his vibrant green eyes. Nelaros was good looking – a strong chin, the chiseled lines of his face and hair the color of spring wheat. It was not easy to see him as a smith, even more so because he wore an armor made mostly of leather. Only upon closer inspection could Alistair see that silverite metal platelets had been carefully embedded into the leather and built a strong armor around chest and back.

"All this – finding those people, sending them back to Ferelden", he finally asked and Nelaros returned his gaze to look at Grimm, the smile still in place. Unlike Aífe the elf's expression was not guarded, he simply listened quietly. "Who sends you to do this? Is it the queen?"

Only at the last question Nelaros showed surprise, but quickly shook his head. "No, queen Anora has nothing to do with this. Nobody sends us", he replied.

"Nobody sends you?", Alistair kept asking. He was pretty sure there was more than enough to be done in Ferelden and that there was nobody who could afford to pay for any such adventures. Not with Denerim to be rebuilt, the south still doubtlessly plagued by the Taint and many thousand men and women slain. And what would drive an elven smith to journey to Orlais, Tevinter and the Free Marches – an elven smith and what Alistair presumed was some kind of noble woman or at perhaps a knight. Although she did not act particularly knightly. She was definitely cocky enough to be a noble, he decided.

"Nobody sends us", Nelaros confirmed patiently. "It is a very long story. When we are done and if you are interested enough, I can tell you more later. It is nothing special, though, we simply try to undo what has been done. Or at the very least, help those that still can be helped."

They both fell silent then and as time went by, Alistair began to wonder whether something had happened. Nelaros, however, seemed calm as he leaned against the stone, eyes on Grimm. The minutes went by and the warrior walked closer to the entrance. It was quiet within and after his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, he could see that there was a narrow passage leading deeper into the earth. Then, suddenly, Grimm lurched to his feet and took off in a run. Within moments the darkness in the cave had completely swallowed him.

"Come", Nelaros said and moved past him to hasten after the dog, bow and arrow in hand. Only few torches were still lit and hanging on the wall – some had been taken down and extinguished, probably Aífe's worked. They had to move much slower than the dog to allow their eyes time to adjust to the darkness, but while they could no longer see Grimm, they could hear the dog rocketing through the narrow tunnel ahead, heedlessly rushing ahead without so much as a look over his shoulder.

"Watch out, disarmed trap", Nelaros warned him and jumped over a spring trap. There were several more of those, all harmless by now, and when the path widened, they almost stumbled over the body of a woman. There was no sign of struggle and she was still breathing. Another guard, it seemed, stripped of all weapons and disabled with whatever poison Aífe had spread on her glove and dagger. One more unconscious body they passed and then, after climbing steep stairs, they entered into the big main cavern – and almost directly into a volley of arrows.

"Watch out!", Aífe shouted and while Nelaros quickly ducked into cover behind a rock, Alistair raised his shield to block the arrows aimed at him. They thudded uselessly against the metal as he moved to take cover close to a thick column of stone, quickly looking around and taking in the details. The cages on the far side of the cave were empty. The children were gone.

Alistair could spot Aífe huddled behind a large stalagmite, trying to make herself as small as possible. There was an arrow embedded in the leather of her shoulder guard, which she had already broken off at the shaft, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Grimm was crouching at her feet, ears flat against his skull and blood dripping from his snout – which explained the dead man not far from them with his sword still in hand and his throat ripped open.

"They were expecting us", Aífe said and pulled a larger flask from her belt. "Three archers, a mage and two swordsmen – there might be more. None of the children is here. Watch out for the mage, I think he is from Tevinter. Don't get too close to him, he is nasty." Without leaving them the time to so much as nod or smile or perhaps fully register the words, she gave Grimm a soft push towards one archers and dove out of cover, throwing the bottle in her hand.

Glass broke and suddenly it rained fire on the other side of the cave, the whole room illuminated and bright for a few moments. Nelaros leaned out of cover, an arrow already notched and when he saw an opening, he let it fly.

Shield held in front of him as cover, Alistair advanced into the room and caught a first glance of their enemies when the fire settled. Aífe had forgotten to mention that one of the swordsmen was a Kossith. A big one. That was currently singed and ever so slightly displeased. He wasn't even sure the Kossith counted as swordman, because he had no sword. Just a giant mace that he wielded with both hands. "Of course", Alistair murmured and sighed. Sometime soon he would have to explain to the woman the definition of swordsman.

He only dared to watch the others out of the corners of his eyes, but could see Aífe moving from cover to cover, careful to not expose herself to the mage or the archers too much. She threw another bottle, directly between her and the archers and a clouds of smoke immediately rose, concealing her and one of the archers. Nelaros had moved to her previous cover and took aim at one of the others archers.

"Don't stand around like fools, move!", the mage snarled, beating his hands against his robes to extinguish the last sparks of fire. "Leave one alive if you can – if not, simply kill them. We have no time for this. The one to bring me that damn woman's head will get paid extra."

The Kossith turned towards the smoke, but the other swordsman came straight at Alistair. He lifted his shield to block the first blow, diverting it to the side, before he brought down his own sword in a heavy swing. His blood was rushing and he could feel his movements become easier – he did not need to think, it was all there. Move with your enemy, circle, block, wait for the moment, stab. The man went down and Alistair looked up just in time to see that the smoke was lifting, revealing one dead archer. A second one had moved further back with one of Nelaros' arrows in his arm and dropped his bow.

Aífe saw the Kossith coming and evaded a blow from the mace by diving out of the way, simultaneously drawing a small knife from her boot. She threw it and the giant man all but swatted it away with his arm, it left no more than a small scratch on his arm. The mace came down in another blow and she moved out of the way as if she had predicted the move. She kept dancing out of harm's way, all the while drawing closer to the Kossith – and then dove in, slashing her fighting dagger across his hands. With a grunt the giant moved back, but his grip on his weapon was still firm and he swung it again, just as she ducked under it and circled him yet again, quickly pulling forth a tiny bottle that she threw at his chest, where it broke and released a cloud of white smoke.

"Katara, bas!", the Kossith growled and lifted his mace one more time, utterly unconcerned by the way she was looking for a weak point in his heavy plate armor. She quickly moved backwards and out of his reach and groaned when a magic bolt hit her in the side.

The mage who had tried to kill Nelaros until now, had apparently given up on that prey as the elf was evading each single spell by staying behind cover and only firing his arrows when he was sure to not expose himself. Aífe stumbled to the side and barely had time to dodge the next bolt, throwing herself to the ground and rolling to the side to jump back on her feet quickly – and suddenly she ceased moving altogether, frozen mid-step.

Alistair pulled his sword clear from the last archer that had the mistake to leave him out of his eyesight, while he ran from Grimm – it had been far too easy to stun the man with a blow of his shield and force him to drop his bow. The man had drawn a sword and a short dagger, but panic had made his movements frantic and before long Alistair had found an opening and dispatched of him.

He turned and spotted Aífe just as she came up again and knew what had happened before she did, her grey eyes wide in surprise as she struggled to so much as speak. The magic crackled up from the glyph, binding her like shackles, pale currents of energy ghosting over her limbs.

As the Kossith approached the woman and lifted his mace, an arrow thudded against his shielded shoulder, not even making him flinch, and he readied for the heavy blow when Grimm catapulted himself against the fighter. The Mabari latched onto the giant's arm with a blood-curling snarl and the man flinched despite the protection of chainmail. The hound pulled him down with his weight and letting go of the protected limb, he immediately dove for the neck, but the man had let go off his weapon and grabbed the dog by the neck. It was a fight of wills, the Mabari pressing forward to sink his teeth into his enemy's throat, while the Kossith kept his large hands on the hounds neck, pushing him away and half-strangling him.

The mage had wasted no time and summoned a spell, Alistair could feel him focus it and then a blast of lightning hit Aífe. Even in her paralyzed state she cried out as the sparks danced over her and she closed her eyes in pain. "How do you like that, bitch? That is true magic – not your silly little bombs!", the mage said and raised his hand to summon a fireball.

Alistair was finally close enough and took a deep breath, readying himself. He concentrated his will, could feel it deep within and as he had so many countless. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had last done it. He tried to focus on the force within him, ignoring the noise around him and the smoke from the fire that made his eyes burn. When it filled him completely, ran in his blood and thundered in his ears, he let it flow from him, let it seep into the ground and the air as he exhaled. It took him precious time, but he forced himself to maintain his concentration. The glyph and the spell the mage was casting were washed away and the very air cleansed from magic, and Aífe dropped to her knees. The mage looked surprised and almost scared, staring at his hand. Alistair felt almost scared himself. He could hear his own heartbeat and feel the familiar aura of strength pulse in him, growing stronger with each breath. He had almost forgotten how it felt.

The Kossith had succeeded in wrestling Grimm off of him and throwing him aside, but the hound was already on his feet again, barking and snarling as he lunged for the giant that was scrambling to his feet. Alistair turned to use the chance, quickly moving towards the two to help finish off the warrior as long as he was still down, albeit he was reluctant to turn his back on Aífe. She was trying to regain her footing, shaking her head and holding stubbornly onto her daggers. The Kossith was almost on his feet again, when he suddenly started to stagger, eyes unfocused, and Grimm used the chance to grip onto his arms once again and pull him down with his weight. Alistair bashed his shield against the giant's head – once, twice and a third time. How hard could a skull be?

"Parshaara!", the Kossith roared and surged to his feet once more, gripping Alistair's shield and ripping it from his hands – he had to let go if he didn't want his arm broken by sheer force. Alistair cursed himself. He should have put distance between them, should have seen it coming. Quickly he took a step back, holding his sword now with both hands – and then suddenly the Kossith toppled over as if hit by an invisible blow. Grimm dove in to bury his teeth in the now exposed neck, shaking his head violently.

"Watch out!", Nelaros shouted, but by the time Alistair turned, all he could do was watch as the mage unleashed a fireball. He brought up his left arm automatically and registered too late that he had no shield to protect himself. His armor would offer little to no protection and if the metal heated enough on his skin… Lifting his arms over his head he crouched down to offer as little of an aim as possible, hoping the mage had not had enough time to summon powerful magic.

However, there was no heat. Flames licked on his shoes and his back, but he did not feel the force of the fire or the impact of the magic. He was knocked back violently, something entirely unmagical colliding with him, and thrown to the ground. A heavy weight kept him down for several moments and when it finally lifted and he could turn around, he saw Aífe scrambling to her feet in front of him, her leathers still smoking from the fire.

She seemed a bit worse for wear – she had only one dagger in her hands now and looked pale, not to speak of the still smoldering piece of fur at her collar. Without looking at him she pulled her hunting knife from some other hidden sheath – where did she hide all of those blades?! - and threw it.

The mage conjured a magic barrier and the knife did not even reach him. "Silly little girl. I am the first apprentice of Claudius Da-", the man started to say, but was silenced when an arrow sliced through his shoulder, quickly followed by a second one that he could barely deflect. Aífe produced yet another bottle from a pocket and threw it – it exploded in a black cloud, releasing a foul stench and making the mage drop to his knees. The man was gasping for air violently, clutching his hands to his throat. Within moments she had reached him, stabbing her dagger deep into the base of his skull with some difficulty. As she let go of the mage, he fell forward and did not move anymore.

Aífe herself stumbled back a few steps until she caught hold of the bars of an empty cage. There were various throughout the cavern – all empty now. She was breathing hard and quickly looked up to make sure they were all still breathing and alive while their enemies were not.

"Well, that went well", she said very quietly and Grimm appeared at her side, whimpering as he pushed his head against her and almost made her loose her balance. She winced as she moved her arm and put her hand on his head, letting it rest there reassuringly for a moment. "Everybody alright?", she asked and pushed herself away from the cage to collect her weapons quickly. Apparently she did not plan on taking a break.

"Yes, but then I have not been hit with lightning and fire", Alistair said and watched her closely as he picked up his shield. He was not sure how bad the lightning spell had hit her. He was also not sure what exactly had made her think it was a sensible thing to put herself between him and a fireball. Perhaps her logic was damaged from the first spell. Or perhaps she had fits of craziness. What was he thinking? He already knew she had fits of craziness.

"Drakeskin leather, it is highly fire-resistant", she said as though that explained everything. Which it didn't. Something smelt burned and he was pretty sure it was her. Plus, he really, really wished she would stop to at least pour water or something over that smoldering tuft of fur on her collar.

Their eyes met and he could see that the wheels in her head were turning, her eyes skimming over his figure. Her expression was unreadable for him as she stood there and allowed herself a split moment to regard him carefully. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then snapped it shut again.

Instead, she moved to pick up all her knifes and sheathed them, except for the two long fighting daggers, to which she applied liquid from the small flask she had used earlier. Her belt was now rather empty, most flasks and little bottles gone, and she quickly moved to the pack Nelaros had brought and dropped once they reached the cavern. She grabbed some flasks from within, fastening them to her belt again, and choosing three small bottles that were filled with red liquid.

He caught the one she threw to him and uncorked it, sniffing the liquid. The smell was herbal and slightly sweet – a health poultice. She herself drank half of hers and then leaned down to let Grimm lick the rest of it. Alistair put the one she had thrown him in the small pocket on his belt, hoping it would not break in a fight. He still felt fine and while his healed shoulder felt a bit tense, he himself was fine. More than fine. He had not felt like this since… Well, since a while.

"We have to move quickly, they might have a ship ready", Aífe said and already moved towards a narrow passage that led away from the cavern. She was quick on her feet, moving ahead of them with a torch in her hand, carefully studied the ground as she hasted through the tunnel. Grimm followed just a step behind her, fur still bristled and ears perked.

"Aífe…", Nelaros called softly, running besides Alistair. She did not so much as turn around to them, but simply raised her hand as if to wave the concern in the elf's voice away.

"Keep ready, I hear the sea", she said and the passage started to lead them upwards again and indeed, soon enough there was the breaking of waves not far away. The tunnel widened and Alistair could feel water run into his chainmail boots, soaking through leather and fabric. He barely registered it.

Within moments they were out of the cave, standing at the shore. There was torchlight on the beach and voices, foreign words spoken hastily and he could hear the faint sound of crying. As he turned he could see a big ship anchored not far from them and a boat that had almost reached the ship – another boat was just taking off from the beach this moment. He could spot two adults and several smaller figures. He swallowed. The children – they were bringing them to the ship!

He spotted several silhouettes still on the beach – only a few small ones, huddled close together, all the others tall and already pulling a third boat towards the water. The men on the beach spotted them and he could see them draw their weapons, spitting out curses.

"No", he heard Aífe whisper almost inaudibly and then she took off in a run, the water splashing around her.

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**Author's Comment: **And another chapter! Yay! \o/ I hope my fight-description is not to boring to read, I edited it several times to try and make sure it all fits and makes sense - if it still doesn't, please let me know. :) That being said, poor Aífe... I had not really planned on throwing lightning at her - but then, it just presented itself and, well... now she's slightly worse off for wear. But no break yet!

I want to thank **Emma**, as always, for discussing the parts with me and helping me find as many mistakes as possible before I upload. :) If anybody is interested, there is a picture of Aífe's armor design linked in my profile. I would also like to recommend this Dragon Age tribute, a song both written and sung by the awesome **Bina Bianca** - check it out: www_youtube_com/watch?v=1m62F7yYX9A (substitue the _ with . and play! Sorry, I could not figure out any other way to put the link in here)  
>I would like to think it will fit very nicely in future chapters, so you can see it as a bit of a prediction. X'3<p>

That being said, I hope you enjoyed reading this! Thank you so very much to everybody leaving reviews, favouring this or following this story. It makes me squee endlessly!


	9. Breaking Waves

**Chapter 9: Breaking Waves**

„No", Aífe whispered and stood still for a moment, taking in the scene. Her breath caught in her throat. The children were split into groups – she could see a boat out on the water, already close to the ship that was waiting beyond the rocks that blocked the access to the bay. Completely out of reach. There was another boat already in the water, several children and two grown men within, and a few more men and children on the beach, where a third boat was pulled towards the water.

The men had already seen them – probably spotting the torch she had carried to allow them to move faster, but it mattered little. There was no cover here and they would have seen them in any case. She had started running before she had fully formulated a plan, her fighting dagger in her right hand and the water splashing up around her. It slowed her down, but she ignored it as best she could and within moments Grimm was overtaking her, snarling madly.

She raised her arm then, pointing at a man standing furthest away and already raising his bow. "Grimm,_ reap_!" The mabari increased his speed, fangs bared, and rocketed past a woman, skillfully evading the sword directed at him. She could hear his growl and a yelp, but had already focused on the boat in the water. "Clear the beach! Keep them away from the water!", she shouted to her two companions and sidestepped the woman's attack, now directed at her. Behind her was the clash of weapons, but she did not slow or turn around.

Completely ignoring the other men at the beach, she ran for the boat already in the water. An arrow flew past her, so close that she could hear the sound it made as it cut through the air. She kept running regardless, hand already on the hilt of her short dagger. One of the men inside the boat noticed her drawing close and with a curse jumped out into the water. With a grunt he gripped the boat and gave it a strong push away from the shore, before she could reach it. The man in the boat started to row, while the one in the water swung around to face her, sword ready. He had underestimated her speed and seemed surprised to have her so close already, for his aim was off and she blocked the sword with her dagger, keeping the blade a mere inch from her side. She pulled the shorter dagger from its sheath and grunted as he disengaged from her, pushing her back.

A short glance towards the boat showed that the man put all his power into getting it as far away from the beach as fast as possible. She cursed, eyes flickering back to the man in front of her. He was taller than her, but only wore simple leather armor. Her gaze hardened as she lunched forward, fully expecting his counter – almost anticipating it. She made no move to disengage and instead brought up her left hand with the short dagger in a powerful upwards-trust. The blade slipped into the flesh beneath his breast bone, the enchanted blade cutting through skin and muscles almost too easily. She had hit the right spot. Blood started to trickle over her fingers and as she quickly pushed him to the side, extracting her blade, she turned and hacked her fighting dagger downwards, cutting into his throat even as he was still falling. The water exploded in a dark cloud as he landed, but Aífe allowed herself no time to linger.

With quick movements she sheathed the daggers and then loosened her belt, throwing it towards the beach – the outermost layer of her leather armor followed, and with some difficulty her boots and gauntlets soon after. She cursed at the time it cost her to pull them off, but knew they would slow her down too much otherwise. Nimble fingers opened the sashes and ties that kept her breast plate of drake bone in place. The moment she had thrown it towards the beach, she pulled her hunting knife, took it between her teeth and jumped into the water. She would have to fully trust the others to take care of the remaining men.

The boat had a head start on her, but she was a fast swimmer and she could dive under the high waves, while the boat was rocked back and forth with them. Her thoughts were racing, formulating a plan, possible scenarios. If she reached the boat, she could try to pull the man into the water. He wore heavier armor than she did, he would have much more difficulty. Perhaps she would be able to place a well-aimed thrust with her knife and severe an artery, it would make it impossible for him to row all the way to the boat. She prayed they would not see her and send reinforcements. Hearing shouts from the ship ahead, she increased her speed. The armor pieces she had not been able to remove quickly enough were slowing her down, she was not used to wearing anything besides a tunic when swimming and the rough sea helped little. Slowly she was gaining on the boat, and the man knew it as well.

He dropped the oars and pulled a knife, aiming it for her. When he let fly, she quickly dove into the water, propelled herself forward with quick strokes. When she came up for air, the boat almost within reach, the cold of the water began to slowly seep into her bones. He already waited for her with another knife, throwing it. She dipped beneath the surface last minute – but not deep enough. The knife cut her above one eyebrow, not deep enough to be serious, but she could feel hot blood trickle down her face when she came up again. Her heart was thundering in her chest.

Pushing on she took her knife into her right hand to cover the last few meters, but then the man spoke in Antivan, pulled the boy right in front of him up and without so much as hesitating for a moment, threw him over board. Surprise made her hesitate for a moment.

The boy uttered a shriek as he hit the water, arms flailing helplessly as he tried to keep himself on the surface. Even in the darkness of the night Aífe could see his panicked look as they locked eyes, the tiny hand stretching towards her. For a moment her eyes flickered back to the boat, where the man had settled down again and leaned into the oars, quickly moving towards the ship now. She could see the hunched silhouettes of the children, huddled close together. One was looking at her, the face expressionless, but the eyes bright. There was hope in those eyes.

Gritting her teeth Aífe put the knife back in its sheath with some difficulty – she would not be able to throw it accurately enough without risking the children in the boat. "Jump!", she shouted to the children in the boat, feeling the growing desperation as she reached the boy in the water, grabbing his arm and pulling him close. The child's movements were frantic and as it was trying to hold onto her, it hit her with an arm across the nose and kicked her in the stomach. Coughing she tightened the grip on the boy, pulling his back against her own chest and leaning back slightly. "I have you, it is alright. It is alright", she said pressed as an elbow connected with her ribs.

Aífe looked back at the boat that was moving further and further away. She would not be able to follow it, not with the boy in her arms. "Jump out, I will get you!", she shouted again, at the same time realizing that it was difficult enough to support the one little boy in her arms. She was not sure how many more she would even be able to hold over water, much less bring back to the shore. But once the boat reached the ship, they were completely out of her reach. "Come on! Trust me!", she shouted again, feeling the boy turn in her arms and wrap his thin arms around her neck. It made swimming even more difficult, but at least he had stopped kicking and twisting.

The night cast a thick blanket over the boat and Aífe could see little. The cold pricked her skin like a thousand needles and she gritted her teeth. Could she carry a second child to the shore? She could not say. Blood was dripping into her eyes and she blinked it away, desperate to not loose eye-contact with the bright-eyed child. It was a small girl, she thought, not much older than the boy in her arms. None of the children moved. They were scared.

"I will come and get you", she shouted, following an impulse. "I will come and get you and bring you back home. I promise you!" The boy's arms tightened around her neck, nails digging painfully into her skin as he held on for dear life. "I will find you!"

She was not sure if it was the weight of her armor and the boy or the weight that had settled in her guts, dragging on her legs, making movement more and more difficult. The blood seeping from her wound felt hot on her skin and she took a deep, shaky breath. She had failed tonight.

The boy in her arms moved and she heard a faint whimper close to her ear. She pulled him closer and tried to smile, even though he probably could not see it. "It is alright, I am here. I have you." Her voice was no more than a murmur as she watched the boat melt into the shadow the ship cast and finally, painstakingly slowly, she averted her eyes.

A big wave rolled over them and they came back up, coughing and spitting and the boy had once against started to scramble to get to the surface. Aífe gritted her teeth as she received another blow to her ribs, but just pressed him close with one arm, while she started to disentangle his arms from her neck.

"Listen to me, it is going to be alright. But I need you to help me, yes?", she said and tried to sound calm. "I need my hands to swim, you see?", Aífe explained and slowly took one of the boy's hands to put it on her shoulder. "You need to hold on – just that. Only hold on, nothing more. It is easy. If you cannot anymore, you tell me. Come now, let us get back", she said as calmly as she could. It was difficult to free her neck from the boy's craps, but eventually he allowed her to readjust his grip to her shoulder, so she could turn around and start swimming towards the beach. His fingers dug into her skin and she bit her lip in an effort to just keep swimming.

The cold started to spread through her and she shivered, putting more energy into her strokes. She did not want to imagine how the child felt. Their progress was slow – she was a fast swimmer, but she had never had to move anybody in the water and much less so with the added weight of armor. Twice she had to stop to help him readjust his grip.

When she finally was close enough to the shore to stand, she was about ready to collapse. Collecting him into her arms, she moved through the water, coughing up seawater she had swallowed fighting against the waves. Her throat burned like fire and so did her eyes. Dizziness almost overwhelmed her as she waded forward and she blinked like an owl to clear her vision. As she looked up, she could see the tall form of Alistair wade into the water to meet her, his arm outstretched. His face was cast in shadows, but even so she could see his furrowed eyebrows.

"The beach is clear", he said, his voice low. Nodding her acknowledgement, she carefully staggered forward and was thankful for his hand on her elbow, steadying her and keeping her upright. Grimm was at her side the very next instant, dancing around her with nervousness and a low whine. The blood still spilling from the cut on her brow felt even hotter now on her face and was dripping onto her neck and shoulder.

She set the boy down carefully and then, despite Alistair's best efforts, let herself drop to her knees and leaned forward, catching her fall on her hands. Her attempts at fighting off the shiver that started to run up her spine were fruitless - she started to shake and bit her lip as she turned to face the boy, a small smile plastered on her lips. "Now, that was not so bad, was it? A tad cold, perhaps", she said almost conversationally and avoided gazing back over her shoulder towards the ship. The boy looked at her, eyes big. His lips were blue and he had put his arms around his knees, desperate for warmth.

Grabbing hold of Grimm's neck, she pulled him closer and pushed him towards the boy, a signal the hound accepted quietly, albeit with a moment of hesitation. He settled down next to the boy, licking over his face briefly, before he pressed himself closer. "That is Grimm, he is a very good friend of mine. He is very warm, can you feel it?", she asked quietly and tried to push herself upward again. Her legs trembled and she allowed herself a few more moments, closing her eyes. Slowly her labored breathing grew more even and she forced herself to take deep breaths, before she finally opened her eyes again.

Only now she noticed that Alistair still stood beside her, offering her a hand that she accepted. His skin felt scorching hot underneath her fingers and she almost pulled back in surprise, but he tightened his grasp and pulled her up with a tug, until she stood staggering.

She regarded the boy at her feet, who had by now slung his arms around Grimm and pressed close. He had buried his face in the hound's fur and Grimm shot her a curious glance. He uttered a low rumble that she knew to be a question and she put her hand on his head, rubbing it. "The other children?", she asked Alistair, who still stood close. Only now she noticed the blood on his armor and a few splatters on his face. Absentmindedly she wiped her arm across her brow to keep the blood from dripping down. The wound seemed to slowly stop bleeding.

"There were only five children left on the beach, they are safe. Nelaros led them away from here, so they would not have to look at – well", the warrior explained and shrugged. She saw at least three bodies lying somewhere behind him, another one in the water. Puddles of blood were starting to accumulate around them and she nodded, digging her toes into the sand and rubbing her arms desperate for even a bit of warmth.

Her thoughts were once again racing and she cursed under her breath. Everything went wrong. She had had a plan, everything prepared. Now she could not be sure whether there was an information leak somewhere, although she thought it likely. Why else would the slavers risk the transfer in the deep of the night instead of waiting for morning light? Aífe turned to look at Alistair, who watched her closely. He seemed on edge. But then, he had since she had met him.

Had he betrayed them? No, she thought, impossible. She had not told him anything until the last moment and there had been ample opportunity to sabotage them. In fact, without him the mage in the cave could have hurt her considerably. All that proved that her first impression was correct – he had been a good choice.

"You are insane. Has anybody ever told you that?", he asked then suddenly and she lost her train of thoughts for a moment. "I can be a tad behaviorally experimental. It is one of my more charming attributes", she said without thinking and shook her head. Concentrate, she admonished herself, concentrate and move. There is no time for being an idiot, even less so when your toes have turned an unhealthy shade of blue. Plus, right now he looked at her as though she might throw up her hands in the air and start the newest fashionable Orlesian dance any moment now. She considered doing it, just to gauge his reaction and perhaps because somewhere not so deep down anymore hysteria started to rear its head and make kissy-faces at her.

Concentrate, she told herself once again, and finally found the strength to start moving. She had a bit more time before exhaustion and cold would all but bring her to her knees and she needed to use it. She started to open the sashes of the remaining armor pieces to pull them off. First, get out of the wet armor. Then, follow the plan. She had been prepared for anything.

"Alistair, take the lad and join Nelaros. He knows what to do – tell him to go to the cave we prepared and to light a fire, but cover the entrance. Move fast and protect the entrance. Grimm can scout for you." She was already moving and did not look at any of them, but then Grimm was in front of her, blocking her way.

"He is right", Alistair said, even though the hound had not uttered a sound. "You are dripping wet and bleeding." Grimm huffed in agreement and she narrowed her eyes at him, before she turned to face the warrior. He had crouched down next to the boy, who sat there stiffly and forlornly after Grimm had left him, eyes still on her. She wiped a hand over her brow again and when she looked at it, she could see that it was covered in blood. Allowing herself no more than a moment, she shrugged and looked at the boy, offering him a hand to help him up. To her surprise, he took it and immediately curled his hand into hers.

"We don't know if anybody else is coming or if they will send reinforcement from the ship", she said curtly to Alistair, but regretted her tone immediately. "There is much to do still and little time", she added. Grimm was still blocking her path. "I need to find out where that ship is bound and who they are working for. The guards will wake soon and any of them could have information on him. I will cover your trail and lay a wrong one, should I see sign of pursuit."

"That does not change that you are wet and have been hit by lightning", Alistair said quietly and she gritted her teeth. As if she didn't know that herself. She needed no reminder of that. She locked eyes with him and scowled for good measure. He did not seem impressed. She added more scowl.

"I know. I also know that I can take it and that I will have to. Go, Alistair. I will join soon." It was obvious that he did not agree with her – he had no talent for lies, his feelings were written on his face. She had by now picked up the boy and handed him over to the warrior, though, leaving him little choice.

As Aífe turned to tell Grimm to join them, she could see that the command would be useless. She knew his look and he was still upset that she had left him behind when she wandered the city to avoid attention. He would not leave her side now. "Grimm", she said and touched a finger to his snout, before she started to jog towards the bodies on the beach. She would search them for anything useful and put on at least her dry boots, then she would return to the cave. Stooping to pick up her daggers, she lifted them to her eyes. She would get the information she needed, in whatever way necessary.

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**Author's Comment:** Sooo, finally chapter 9. =) Again an infinite work of writing, deleting every letter, rewriting. There are many different versions of this chapter, but this is the one I decided to go with, after all. I tried to stay accurate in terms of what is really humanly possible and surely hope that this doesn't sound too unlikely. I want to thank **Emma** as always for telling me it's ok to upload this. X'D The fighting was a bit limited in this one, since it was Aífe's POV, but I promise to try to add more gore and finesse to the fights in the future, as was suggested by **EkoCentric** :)  
>I hope you enjoy this chapter, the next one will have a bit more explanation in it and Alistair will get to think about what he's gotten himself into. Sadly, there will be no Orlesian fashion dance, I think... unless somebody can give me a really good reason. X'D<br>Thanks to everybody for reviewing, thank you very, very much =) And a special wave and salute to the guys and galls from the Alistair-Fanclub! :) **Alyssacousland** and** Graymalyk!  
><strong>


	10. Revelations

**Chapter 10: Revelations**

Alistair, after a very careful and painstakingly accurate analysis, came to the conclusion that he was with high probability insane. That was truly the only explanation for the thrill he had felt at drawing his sword, the euphoria after they had defeated the guards on the beach, the content hum of his blood in his ears as he had stood afterwards for just a moment, looking out over the sea. It had taken him more than a year to forget, to ignore the memories at the very least.

_His arms ache and his breath is labored, but he does not stop. One of the creatures screeches as it hurls itself at him, but he brings up his shield and pushes it back almost effortlessly, his heart beating steadily. The shield gleams in the sinking sun like gold and he once again brings his sword down in a powerful arch, plunging it deep into a Hurlock's neck. The hum in his ears is almost deafening, but he does not need to hear them. He can feel them, knows their movements. He is a warrior and this is his element._

He licked his lips and swallowed hard. He was thirsty and water could not quench his thirst. Just a glass of whiskey would help already, perhaps two. Pressing his eyes closed, he rubbed his hand over his face, repressing a sigh. He should not have come.

"You are scowling", Aífe said and broke the silence in which they had been sitting for quite a while now. The scowl deepened as he looked at the root of all his problems. Well, the main ones anyhow. She looked small in the clothes she wore now – a tunic far too big for her and breeches that she had to stuff into her boots and bind at her waist with her belt, so it would not drop. The only advantage they really had were that they were dry. Where she had gotten them he could only guess. One of the guards they had left behind bound and unconscious most probably. The same ones she had gone to question. As he studied her, he wondered whether she had killed them.

She looked almost harmless. Except for the blood that had dripped from the wound on her brow onto the tunic, staining shoulder and chest. The arsenal of knifes, daggers and something he could not quite identify that she had arranged around her helped little. She looked… disheveled. No, that was not the right word. She looked as though a dragon had swooped down, swallowed her whole, decided she was too exotic for its taste, gagged her back up and spit her out in a semi-dry state. It was fascinating that the bun was still in place, even though strands of hair had slipped out. The cut on her brow – now cleaned and coated with some white salve that smelled of honey – helped little.

"That's just my face", he answered then, watching her as she leaned back against Grimm. The hound had settled down behind her and now functioned as her personal cushion, something he did not seem to mind. He wagged his tail at the movement, but did not even open his eyes – since he had finished eating, the dog had been all but unconscious. She buried her hand in his fur, fingers raking over the skin in an almost distracted movement – something she had done quite frequently after she had joined them.

From the moment she had entered the cave almost an hour after they had left her at the beach, she had been quiet and brooding. At times she stared at the entrance of the cave as though she expected somebody to attack them anytime now, at other times she had gotten up to rearrange a pack that did not sit quite right in her opinion or to cast a glance into the backmost cavern in which Nelaros was sitting with the children.

All this time she had said little and barely took enough time to let him know that they would stay here for the night and some of the day. Only once the sun stood high, they would bring the children to a small port outside the city, where a ship should be waiting for them. That was when his contract would end.

Both the elf and the children were out of their sight now and the shine of the fires they had built did not reach the entrance and thereby could not betray their position, Nelaros had been very careful of that. Immediately after he had led them all to this cave over a stony path below the cliffs, he had built a fire in the innermost cave and another one in this place closer to the entrance. He had given them all something to eat from packs that had been already in here and kept talking while he did so, his calm voice and amiable smile helping the children to let go off at least some of their fear. By now most of them were asleep and Nelaros merely kept them company, telling stories from the Alienage of Highever or Ferelden in general.

That did not keep the woman from casting anxious glances at the children, assessing them over and over again. He had seen the look on her face when she had eaten, her eyes focused on the children. Her gaze had darkened and grim lines had formed around her mouth as she slowly chewed on a piece of bread. Then and again she would flex her fingers as if testing that they still functioned properly, but the gloom as she studied each one of them had not lifted. Only when one turned to look at her, she would put the mask of a smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes, would even wink at one of them. As soon as they averted their gaze, she'd let the mask fall and resume whatever it was she was doing.

Apparently he was the new aim of her analysis – at least he had her full attention now. He felt the childish urge to excuse himself and go outside, just for a few moments. She was invading his personal bubble without even moving. What was wrong with her?

What was wrong with him, for that matter?

"Are you in pain?", she asked then and leaned forward again. Her hand was already on the pack at her side, when he quickly waved her concern away. She had taken him off guard, he had expected something else entirely. "No, I am fine", he was quick to reassure her and with a nod she dropped her hand again. She did not lean back this time, though, and instead she drew up her knees against her chest and put her arms around them, still looking at him.

"You do not seem fatigued at all", she observed and he shrugged. It was true, he did not feel too bad. He did know, however, that normally he would not have pulled that muscle in his shoulder and he would not have had to catch his breath for quite so long afterwards. He also knew that it was the taint that still gave him these advantages. At the thought he quickly lifted the water bottle to his lips and drank a few sips. It helped nothing. He felt thirsty.

She looked away from him and towards the part of the cave that housed the children, listening intently for a few moments. There was nothing to hear, except for almost inaudible breathing. He tensed when she suddenly pushed herself to her feet, hands on her knees, and turned to look at him again.

"I am fine", he repeated after a silence that stretched all too long, eyeing her warily. "I have seen worse." She did not look away and he could not help himself, he got to his feet as well. The top of her head barely reached his chin and yet he felt backed into a corner. He knew that look in her eyes, all but saw the questions already forming on her lips "But then again, I have neither been hit by lightning nor fire. Plus, I did not take a midnight swim in the cold ocean." Perhaps distraction would work on her, he thought faintly, and at the same time did not count on that at all. Now that he thought about it, he knew perfectly well what was wrong with her. She was _insane_. Perhaps if he started running now he'd make it to Antiva before the full force of it hit him.

He did not run, however. Yet another proof that he was just as insane. "Perhaps we should prepare for a blizzard, just in case another element feels inclined to try and kill you tonight. Does it feel avalanche-y to you in here?"

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth and the grim lines vanished for a moment. "Funny", she said with genuine amusement, but did not laugh. "However, you severely underestimate my stubbornness if you think a blizzard or avalanche would so much as put a scratch on me."

"I never assumed such an abstract thing. It is why I was careful to say _try_ to kill", he replied. For all the talking, he knew well enough that she was tired and he also knew that lightning did hurt for longer than just a few moments. He was wondering why she had not already rolled into her blanket, but she probably did not trust him to keep watch over all of them.

"You are not a mage", she said and he stood there for a moment, just staring at her. There. _Insanity_. It was smiling and waving at him happily. How else could these changes of topic be explained properly? Insanity on both sides. Why else did he start to chuckle now, once again rubbing a hand over his eyes. She had not asked a question, she had made a statement.

"You think?", he asked and averted his eyes to look at Grimm, whose paws had started to twitch now. When he looked back at her, the smile was still in place, but he was no longer sure if it was still genuine.

"You would be a very curious mage." She folded her arms over her chest and stepped closer, making him stand up straighter. The difference in height did not seem to perturb her in the least, she simply walked around him slowly, eyes scanning over his form. He turned his head to not lose sight of her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He felt like one of those poor little lambs on farmer's markets that were assessed for their potential as family meal. Any moment now she'd ask for his pedigree.

He chuckled. Wouldn't she be in for quite the surprise.

"You saved me the worst of the lightning spell – and the other spell in which I was caught, some sort of crushing imprisonment. You did something and there was no bomb or flask or amulet. _You_ did something. I saw your movement and the light and there was some sort of wave that rippled through the spells. It originated from you." She spoke from somewhere to his left and finally finished her round, coming back to stand in front of him. Strangely, she looked utterly relaxed – and the smile was still in place. He could read absolutely nothing from her face, except perhaps a certain amount of curiosity. He had always been bad at reading faces, but the woman did make it even more difficult.

The silence stretched between them until it grew almost awkward. He had no idea what to tell her, except perhaps the truth – and somehow, that was not an option. All he was, was a mercenary of some sorts. He was no prince, he was no Grey Warden, he was at this point not even a warrior anymore. He had nothing to fight for. Most of all, though, he did not want her to know any of that.

"The best explanation that came to my mind would have been that you were using magic", she continued when he said nothing. "However, that seems unlikely. You have not used lyrium in the last days – Grimm would have smelled it and warned me. You would also be the very first mage I meet that prefers chainmail over light clothes, carries no staff and actually knows how to properly use shield and sword." He should have fled when he had the chance. Now she stood between him and the entrance.

"Curious indeed", she repeated after yet another moment. Alistair felt the scowl return to his face. As if she was somebody to talk. Little Miss I-stalk-the-coast-at-midnight-and-fight -slavers-while-telling-absolutely-nobody-anything-about-nothing.

"This would be the moment where you either assure me that you will not grow horns and start eating people or you actually tell me what it was", she said and he looked at her stunned. Did she really consider that he could carry a demon within him? Great. Now he had sunken to that level.

"You think I have a demon within me?", he asked finally, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. She stepped closer and he immediately took a step back, careful to keep the distance between them. It was not like she was _that_ close, but she ruffled his feathers and by now he had no clue what she actually did think and even less so what she planned on doing. He saw the flicker of movement from the corner of his eyes and when he turned his head to look, he saw that Grimm had quietly gotten to his feet and simply stood there now, looking at him. Alistair saw the tension in the hound's body and that his dark eyes were fixed on him. As if the Mabari's mistress hadn't been enough…

His fingers twitched and he could feel his heartbeat quicken. The shield was somewhere behind him and the sword still close to his feet.

"I do not think you are a demon", Aífe said and took a step back, perhaps because she had noticed his reaction, or perhaps because she also had seen Grimm. With a few steps she was next to her dog and crouched down, putting an arm over his neck to pull him close to her chest. The hound averted his eyes from the man in front of him and wagged his tail as a sign of appreciation, turning to lick her neck.

"I have encountered few demons throughout the last years, so I do not have a vast array of experience. However, I have learned that Grimm and most other animals have much better senses. Were you a demon or even just linked with one, I am pretty sure he would not have been quite so accepting of you", she explained. "Plus, I would think a demon has little interest in aiding me."

Then why bring it up, he grouched, and it must have been evident on his face, because she smiled apologetically at him. "I am sorry", she said and sounded genuine. "I should not bait you so. I had hoped to coax you into telling me what exactly it was that you did, after all – and perhaps who you are to know such a technique. I have not seen the like and I have had quite a few teachers and friends that were very capable with sword, shield and other weapons." After a brief pause in which he simply looked at her quietly, she let herself drop down to sit again. It looked like a peace-offer. He bit back a snarky comment that lay at the tip of his tongue when she cocked her head to the side.

"You see, I do not like not knowing what I am dealing with and quite frankly, I have absolutely no clue what it was that you did there. There have been quite a few surprises tonight and I would like to solve at least this mystery. I get antsy when I am unsure – I start prodding and asking and bothering until I have all the charm of a bag of fleas."

Which was probably the nice way of telling him that she would not stop until he gave her something to go on and he would rather she stopped looking at him with quite so much speculation. Given time she'd undoubtedly make something up in her head and he'd rather she'd not. She had too much imagination.

"It is not that easy", he finally managed so say and looked away from her. Even if he told her one part of the story, where would he start and where would he end? She was of some rank in Ferelden, she undoubtedly knew all that had happened at the Landsmeet. He felt his blood run cold at the thought that she had in fact been there and had seen him.

As he turned to look at her, he studied her – really looked at her for the first time. He did not remember seeing her in the Landsmeet chamber, but that meant nothing. Her blond hair had been bound into a bun all this time and the wetness made it look even darker. She was not very tall, but could not exactly be called especially tiny, either. He would not have called her remarkably pretty or beautiful, either, she looked too grim and hard for that. Attractive perhaps, if she was not as wet and actually smiled. Her piercing grey eyes were probably the most remarkable attribute about her, but otherwise she would be able to vanish in a crowd of people without anybody giving her a second thought. He did not think he had seen her before, but in a dress, with her hair open and behind all those other nobles he did not know… it was well possible. But then why had she not said anything about that at all?

"It is not like you told me everything", he said then, slowly, and studied her face. When he did not see any effect of those words, he added: "My lady." His fingertips tingled and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, pressing his fingers firm against the cold metal of his chainmail armor. A grin tugged on her lips as she got up again, one hand on the neck of her Mabari.

All of a sudden she extended her arm towards him, fingers outstretched. Alistair looked at the arm and then back to her, unsure how to interpret the gesture. "I am Aífe Cousland of Highever", she introduced herself and inclined her head in the suggestion of a bow.

"Cousland?", he repeated after a momentary pause. He had once claimed that the Chantry did not make stupid Templars and in some aspects he was right. He had endured a rather detailed education about the history of Ferelden, its noble houses and geography. He had also heard the rumors and stories told in taverns and villages during the Blight.

The fall of the house Cousland and their so-claimed betrayal of Ferelden to Orlais and death of the whole family had been a widely discussed topic. First rumors of the survival of the Teryn's daughter rose over a month after Ostagar had fallen. The next thing they had heard had been about a rebellion in the north, where she had summoned lords and banns under the Cousland banner to resist Arl Howe and by extent the self-proclaimed regent Loghain. What had happened in the north had been just short of a civil war – lords had been hanged, villages burned, public floggings taken place.

Most importantly, Duncan had mentioned her when he returned to Ostagar after one of his journeys to find recruits.

_They are both sitting close to the fire, warming their hands. Duncan looks tired and Alistair casts him a worried glance. "You did bring a new recruit from Highever – that is good, is it not?", he asks quietly. "It is", Duncan assures him and turns to look at him, his steady gaze warm but distant. "I simply had hoped for another one. Bryce Cousland's youngest has had the finest training money can buy here in Ferelden and has led soldiers already. I have heard she is a more than capable scout and quick to learn."_

_Alistair swallows. Cousland is a big name in Ferelden and he is not quite sure what to make of Duncan's words. "Then why did you not recruit her?", he asks after a moment and Duncan chuckles. "She informed me quite sharply that she had no interest in joining the Wardens and that her duties lie elsewhere. Moreover, her father is a generous man and a friend to us – and he also made it clear that he was displeased at the very idea. There was no reason to force the issue, at least not know. I still plan on visiting the Dalish, perhaps I can find another recruit. If I cannot find anybody else, I am afraid I will have to return to Highever for her… Perhaps she will even join her father when he leads his troops to Ostagar." Duncan looks tired, awfully tired, and Alistair lowers his gaze to his fretting hands. He doesn't really know what to do, so he breaks off a piece of his cheese and offers it to Duncan. "Want some?", he asks and his mentor smiles at him, shaking his head with a chuckle._

She wiggled her fingers as he just stood there and looked at her, dazed. "I am sorry", she said after another moment and let her hand sink. Her brows furrowed and she wrinkled her nose in thought. "I had not thought it would be quite so upsetting. A little honesty for a little honesty, no?"

He squinted at her. She did not look as deadly as stories claimed, nor as beautiful. Plus, Grimm was huge and quite the mountain of muscle, but he did not exactly look like a demon-hound. Right now he was licking his hindquarters with dedication, not really paying attention.

"Look", she said and derailed his train of thought, "If you are worried because you were a soldier for Howe or Mac Tir – don't be." Her gaze had darkened again and even though she tried to hide it, he caught the signs of a sneer forming on her features as she spoke the names. "I know the rumors, but despite popular belief I did not seek to kill everybody associated with them in whatever way possible. I will not say that I have any love for them, but I understand well enough that a soldier can rarely choose his lord." Despite her words, he had seen her eyes flicker to her weapons laid out on the ground. For the first time he could see her tense and even though she said not a word, Grimm perked his ears and once again looked at him.

So she did not know who he was. He did not want to take the chance of her jumping to any conclusions by herself. Whatever she said, he had heard stories of her raids on Loghain's supply wagons and Howe's soldiers holding her father's lands. More importantly, he had seen her fight tonight. There was no hesitation in her movements and a deadly accuracy to each stab of her daggers. He had no desire to let the tension between them progress and turn even more serious.

She twitched as he extended his hand towards her, her fingers ghosting over the single dagger remaining in its sheath on her belt. Grimm lowered his head and took a step forward, ready to block the warrior's path towards his mistress and eyeing him warily.

"I am just Alistair." She looked at his hand and took a step towards him. "I have never served any of them and I would rather be called a deserter than have anybody believe I ever did. I fought at Ostagar, where my… commander died." A shiver crawled up his spine at the mention of the old ruins and he saw her avert her gaze briefly. Then she finally grasped his hand and squeezed tightly it in greeting. Her fingers were cold, they felt almost icy on his skin.

"Well met", she said very quietly and her shoulders sagged as she allowed herself to drop her defense. As they both pulled back, Alistair cleared his throat and turned to look at Grimm, extending his hand yet again. "Just Alistair", he repeated and watched the dog etch closer, sniffing his fingers with great concentration for a moment. Then the hound started to lick his hand, his tiny tail wagging yet again. Alistair could see Aífe smile out of the corner of his eyes.

"I grew up in the Chantry", he finally explained. His eyes were still on Grimm and he slowly lifted his hand to scratch the hound behind one ear. Grimm graciously accepted the touch and after a look at Aífe he even moved closer and sit at Alistair's feet. "Once I was old enough, I was trained to be a Templar and I all but completed the training. However, I was not made for that kind of life and I left without taking the vows and never became a real Templar and so I was not bound to the Chantry. The training, though, is special and it is not something you easily forget. Especially not when you have been attacked by a Darkspawn emissary throwing fire at you or other creatures that like to roast your hide. What you saw was a cleansing of the area, as it is called. It removes any and all spells within a certain range. Nothing special, just very useful against mages of any kind."

She cocked her head to the side and then actually laughed. "Nothing special, he says", she repeated. "Felt pretty special from where I was standing, I can assure you." Suppressing a yawn she returned to the spot against the far side of the wall she had occupied before and settled down again, eyes on him. "Thank you, Alistair."

"You are welcome." He expected more questions, especially with the way she looked at him, but then she just smiled at him faintly and pulled a blanket over her legs.

"You should sleep", she told him and he could not help but laugh, unsure if he was amused or offended. It was obvious that she was more tired than he was and yet she remained stubborn.

"Trust doesn't come easy for you, does it?", Alistair asked and sat back down again. Grimm huffed at the lack of attention and trotted over to his mistress, where he once again curled around her and put his head on his paws. "There is much I have to think about, I will not be able to sleep now. It is just as well that I take first watch", she explained and it was easy to notice that she had not really answered the question.

As he laid down and bedded his head on his arm, pulling a blanket over himself, he heard her rummage in her pack and pick up a weapon. The sound of a whetstone on metal and Grimm's even breathing made him drift off into sleep soon.

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**Author's Comment:** First of all... thank you, **Emma!** Especially for answering my thousand questions if Grimm sounded realistic, Aífe was not overdone and whether dear Alistair did not get out of character. I SHALL NEVER STOP ASKING. I am paranoid. ._. Thanks for bearing with me. :p I also would like to thank **alyssacousland, Graymalkyn and EkoCentric!** I appreciate your reviews very much! =) Thanks also to everybody who follows this story or favoured it!  
>I hope you could enjoy this chapter and get a bit of insight into how the both of them work at this point... at least they've gotten some mistrust out of the way, right? Just becaues Alistair wants to flee her... Pfft. She has cheese. He'll stay. At some point. Not entirely voluntarily. *coughs* RIGHT.<br>I wish you all a very Happy New Year and as we say in Austria "a good slide into the next one, without breaking anything"!


	11. Farewell

**Chapter 11 – Farewell**

The ship anchored at the small harbour outside of Kirkwall looked almost picturesque, white seals taken in as it bobbed lazily with the waves. The familiar sight of the figurehead made Aífe linger for a moment to just look at it – the ebony woman carved into the prow of the ship had her jaw lifted defiantly, fingers tight around the sabre she carried. Some of the paint colouring her dress a watery green had peeled off, revealing the dark wood underneath. The eyes were still a fierce blue, dark as the midnight sea.

The boy in her arms turned to crane his neck, bumping his head against her jaw and she flexed it tenderly, happy to be so close to their destination. A few more minutes and he would manage to break her jaw with all the squirming and wiggling he did to take in everything without losing sight of his friends and specifically Nelaros.

She adjusted her grip on the small elf, shifting his weight so she could balance it mostly on her hip rather than her fast tiring arms. He had assured her – using his fingers for demonstration – that he was only five years old. She was pretty sure he was at least seven, even though he was small and skinny.

"We are almost there, Karis", she told him and managed to evade a collision of their heads this time as he turned to gaze at her. He looked at her earnestly, vibrant green eyes wide open as he listened carefully. Since she had fished him out of the water and he had been able to sleep through the night without so much as waking once, he had barely strayed more than a few feet from her. "Perhaps you would like to walk the last bit yourself? We just need to follow the path down to the ship, see? A few hundred meters, not more."

His arms around her neck tightened and he shook his head decisively. She had not expected that he would, but there had been the faint traces of hope. Repressing a sigh, she looked over her shoulder at the others.

Nelaros had stopped a few steps behind her, holding the hand of a small elvish girl that could very well have been a pixie with her white-blond hair and the big sky-blue eyes. Aífe shot him a baleful look, wondering how he had managed to talk her into walking on her own, before her gaze drifted further to Alistair. Ever since they started off from the cave they had spent the night in, he had carried one or another of the children. They quickly got tired walking along the stony path and they had had to take breaks every now and again. "Almost there", she told them and Alistair nodded with the trace of a smile.

How the man managed to look as though he had been carrying no more than a bouquet of tulips all day was beyond her. Having slept little and still feeling the strain from the fight, she felt like dropping then and there and curl into a tight ball to sleep until sometime next week. Or perhaps till summer. That would be nice.

Just then Grimm returned from the scouting trip she had sent him on, tongue lolling as he looked at her, ears perked up and cocking his head to the side. "Did you find somebody hiding?", she asked him and cocked the head the other way. He was relaxed and unconcerned and she nodded. "No surprises down there? Archers?", she asked one more time and he yawned demonstratively. "Alright. Go on, you can make sure Mikal is expecting us, then." The Mabari jumped around her excitedly and barked, then he took off in a run down the slope.

As they made their way down, she could spot several people on deck of the ship, while a few were on the beach close by or the wooden baulk next to the ship. When they were almost there, she could already spot the tall, lean form of Mikal as he walked towards them, arms outstretched.

"There you are, my dove!", he greeted her, flashing her a brilliant smile. "I had thought you would let me sit here like a chicken!" His accent made the words sound much more exotic, even though it was barely the only remarkable thing about him. She was pretty sure he had gotten yet another piercing, as she looked him over. His right ear was all but gleaming in the sunlight with all the silver rings and he had added a golden one piercing his left eyebrow. It only served to draw more attention to the dark, abstract patterns tattooed on that side of his face.

"A sitting duck, Mikal, not a sitting chicken", she corrected him and chuckled when he shrugged it off. "Hello to you, too, though. It is good to see you, I was afraid there might be a delay." She bent down, carefully setting down the child in her arms. It took a moment, before he finally let go off her neck, albeit one of his hands was now grasping her belt, as though she would disappear any moment if he didn't hold on tight.

Crouching down, she put a hand on his shoulder and pointed at the man standing in front of them. "This is Mikal, he is the captain of that ship. He is a friend of mine", she explained and Mikal winked at the boy, before averting his gaze to look at the others filing in after her.

"My, my, Nelaros! You look much healthier and less arrow-pierced than the last time we met." When the captain spotted Alistair, he nodded with an easy grin, looking back at Aífe. "I approve. I have long since told you to add a little muscle to your merry group of crazy."

Aífe decided it best not to turn around and look at Alistair, but found it hard to scowl at Mikal as he marched past her. Strands of his teal-black hair had loosened from the pony-tail he had pulled it into, now dancing in the soft breeze. "I am Mikal of Rivain", he said, introducing himself, "Captain extraordinaire and a prodigy of the sea. At your service." He ended with a perfect bow, tipping an imaginary hat at the warrior, before extending his hand towards him.

"And so modest", Aífe added with an eye-roll, turning to look at him. "Be that as it may, I want to stress that I disapprove of the word crazy. I explained it to you, it's behaviourally experimental." Shifting her glance towards Alistair, she smiled apologetically, because he seemed a bit confused as he sat the boy he had been carrying down.

"Uhm…", he muttered and grasped the offered hand to shake it. "I am Alistair. I am also not quite sure what we are talking about." He did not seem to be offended, though, so that Aífe allowed herself to look back at Mikal, who had slapped Nelaros on the back in a greeting and now walked back towards her. He had gotten even more tanned, if possible, his skin looking bronzed in the bright sunlight.

"Oh, but the lady never talks about that part", he said and winked at Alistair. "You see, she likes to keep these things to herself and then _whoosh_. You're hers. Now, now, no reason to slap me, my sweet!" He masterfully evaded her hand and came to stand just out of reach. She considered her chances to pinch him just a bit if she moved fast enough, but abandoned the idea in favour of once again looking at Alistair and shrugging her shoulder helplessly.

"Do not listen to him, half the time he talks just to hear his own voice. I promise there was no hidden meaning about anything I said!", she assured him and was well aware of the deep sigh Mikal uttered. "Always so stern. Can you not play along for once? I am pretty sure the lad will not faint at such an idea, he seems battle-hardened. He has probably experienced worse things than you. Such as blizzards or dragons", he said just behind her, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you very much", she said dryly, casting him a withering glance over her shoulder. "Only you have such a way with words. You make me feel like the next Archdemon rising." "She has not even damaged him yet", Nelaros chuckled quietly and she shot him a look. Traitor.

"Except for when she knocked me over – and perhaps when I got shot by an arrow", Alistair supplied helpfully. There was a good natured smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked at her. Surprised that he had joined in, she stared at him for a moment – and then switched to a well-practiced scowl.

"Band all together, will you? I knew it well enough already yesterday. Mutiny", she murmured and demonstratively turned her back on them, winking at the boy, who was giggling, hand still curled around her belt.

"Now, do not pout, my little orange." Mikal slid up next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. She crinkled her nose as she turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Orange?", she questioned and he looked thoughtful. "Peach?" She raised the second eyebrow. "Nectarine? I swear it sounds much more alluring in my language", he assured her.

"To be sure." As she looked up at him, she noticed the concern in his dark brown eyes. The grin on his lips was genuine, but she knew already what he would ask of her once they had settled down to talk. "As long as you do not call me a natural disaster again." He laughed and finally let go of her, looking past her and the men. "Where is Wilder? I cannot see him", he asked and she shook her head. "I made him stay in a village further away. Kirkwall is notorious for its apostates and the Templar order reigning here. I did not want to risk him getting too close to them, he has never had to fight a Templar and I would like to keep it that way", she explained. Mikal seemed rather surprised by that. "He stayed back willingly?", he wanted to know and she pressed her lips together, looking away. "Not exactly, we had a fight and I was rather harsh to him. He is very mad at me, but it was necessary." The look on the captain's face very much looked like exasperation, but then he turned to Nelaros and Alistair. "Come now, my friends! I took the liberty to have the cook prepare a warm meal and have already prepared the beds for the children and all else you asked of me. Now, the cook is unfortunately Ferelden and so, by extension, is the food – but at least so far we have all survived on it." Gesturing towards the ship, he lead the way and only now Aífe noticed that he wore no boots and walked barefoot.

She loosened Karis hand from her belt and instead took it in her own, following him quickly. Grimm came bounding towards them in a full-out ran, all lack of sleep and rest completely forgotten. He barked excitedly as he drew circles around them, sand splashing around his feet as he changed direction every then and again. Aífe knew he would probably have a blessed sleep this night.

"Is this the ship you told us about?", Karis asked so quietly that she almost missed it and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Yes, it is. Mikal will bring you home on this ship, back to Ferelden, to Highever. My brother, the Teyrn, will welcome you and help you find your family there", she repeated what she had already told them all several times. The boy nodded and then looked up at her. "Is he a pirate? My Mom says that pirates have big ships and dark skin and many rings in their ears." Looking ahead at Mikal's tall form as he walked onto the ship over a plank, she wondered whether he was one. "No, he is a merchant and a friend. You do not need to be afraid, I promise." However, apparently she had misjudged the true intent behind that question, because the boy looked rather disappointed.

After they had led the children on board and Mikal's cook had personally started to look after them, showing them the big room they would share and chastising every crew-mate in sight that so much as made one of them flinch, Mikal led them to his cabin. A few things had changed since she last had been here – a map hanging next to his bed, a few more books and scrolls and a generally more crowded feeling. He sat down on the bed, leaving the two chairs and the little stool to them, albeit he did pat the spot next to him and grinned invitingly at Aífe.

Removing her weapon belt, she settled down on the stool with a sigh and stretched out her legs, ignoring his invitation completely. "In your message you talked about 13 children, but you brought only 6", Mikal said without the pretence of subtlety. She bit her lips and could feel her stomach turn at the thought. She knew well enough. It had been in her mind every single moment since she had watched the ship sail off.

"There was a problem", Nelaros said when she remained silent and instead of sitting down, he came to stand behind her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. "By the time we had arrived at the slaver's hideout, they had already started to move the children to ship them off. We could not get to the others." Pressing her eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose. One day earlier and they could have saved them all. Even a few hours would have sufficed. Had she not insisted on waiting for the dark, the plan would not have failed.

"Have you heard of the _Reina del Océano_?", she asked when she finally opened her eyes again, forcing herself to remain practical. "Nelaros saw the name written on the ship's side. The men spoke Antivan, albeit I cannot tell you much more than that and I only understood fragments of sentences – something about a master and a ship. Some elves, some humans, some with tattoos, some without. There was no pattern I could deduce." Nelaros still stood behind her, hand on her shoulder, and Grimm sat down between her legs, resting his big head on her thigh. She was grateful for their presence. She could hear Alistair settle down on a chair, movements slow as if he did not want to disturb them with the clattering of his armour.

"I am sorry", Mikal said, but did not look away. "Hmm… I am not sure, I could ask the boys, but I am afraid the name alone will tell us little. Was it a barque? A brig? Perhaps a caravel? A galley? A schooner?" He stopped his already rather doubtful guesses at the increasingly confused look on Aífe's face that she knew must become evident. "You do not know what the difference between any of those is, do you?", he asked rather bluntly and did not even wait for her to shake her head, instead he rolled his eyes and raised his arms in defiance.

"ᴉ_Increíble_!", he murmured and shook his head. "You live at one of the biggest ports in Ferelden!", he said and sounded rather accusing. She sheepishly scratched her neck and cleared her throat, trying her best to look remorseful. Truth be told, she could only tell stern and bow of a ship apart, because her father had insisted on drilling at least the basic nautical terms into her head. Everything beyond those basic terms was over her head.

"I think it was a caravel, a small one. It did not look much like a transport ship", Alistair said then and Aífe turned to him in surprise. He looked at her and shrugged, rubbing his neck with an embarrassed smile. "I spent some time around harbours when I was small. Used to bug the captains for stories and sometimes they'd show me the ship", he explained. "It is only a guess, though, I've only ever seen a caravel once and that was up close back then, not out on the sea."

"Guess or not, it gives me something to work with. I will talk to the guys and keep my ears open, if I get any clues, I will let you know", Mikal assured, but paused, eyeing her carefully. "If you are so sweet as to tell me your next destination that is, my sweet. The last time you simply vanished from the surface of the earth. Do you know what your brother does to me, every time I return without any news from you? He gives me the sad eyes. Have you ever seen his sad eyes?" She gave him a blank look, unsure whether to slap him upside the head or apologize. She decided for a middle-way. "Yes, I have, he is my brother", she said, "It was not done out of malice, it was-"

"Necessary", Mikal ended the sentence for her. "It is always necessary with you." Grimm lifted his head from her thigh and looked at Mikal, barking at him and giving him something that bore remarkable resemblance to a stink eye. "We sent a letter soon after", Nelaros stepped in to defend her. "Sometimes much time goes by until the letters arrive in Highever." She almost laughed at the look Mikal gave both the hound and the elf.

"Alright, alright, calm down", he said and got up. "You will keep this one, no?", he then asked her and nodded towards Alistair. "I like him. He knows what's important and also when to keep quiet. Plus, he's easy on the eye." Of course Mikal would eventually return to that kind of topic. Aífe put her head in her hand and patted Grimm with the other one. Good thing poor Alistair did not already believe her mentally unstable. _Oh, wait_. She had probably given him enough reason to by now. She groaned.

"Thank you. I think", Alistair said with hesitation. "However, my contract ends today. I will be off after." She glanced at him from between her fingers and noted that he had tensed again, albeit not as much as before. There was merit to Mikal's words – Alistair had proven a good addition to the team. She and Grimm were the only close-range fighters at the moment and while she was fast and could quickly remove opponents from the fight, she simply lacked the strength and build to engage fully armoured men to draw their attention from the others. Grimm, while strong and determined and quite skilled, had no protection besides his reflexes. Another point in Alistair's favour was that he was Fereldan after all and seemed trustworthy to her, if a tad suspicious. But who was she to judge? Looking away again, she pushed the thought aside. There was more danger ahead and she could not simply recruit a stranger that had little cause to help. She did not have the funding and much less the will to endanger yet another person. After they left the ship, she would pay him and he would leave and that was for the best.

Mikal hummed as he regarded Alistair for a while and then looked back at Aífe. "Too bad, I had hoped to give Fergus good news. I know the answer already, my dove, but I will still ask. Will you return to Highever with me?" She could not help but fidget on her stool and once again Nelaros squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Whatever you wish, my lady", he said very quietly, although she knew he did not cherish the idea.

"I am sorry, Mikal, I cannot. We are not done yet, especially not after tonight." He did not seem surprised at all and had probably known the answer anyway – it had been the same since the first time he had asked her over a year ago. Nelaros breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief and she felt a smile tug on her lips. Not yet, but at some point they would be able to.

"I have written a letter for Fergus. Some of it I only wrote yesterday night and I did not have much light, so it is probably not easy to read", she said, quickly changing topic. Opening the pack she had carried with her, she pulled forth a few sheets of paper, by now rather wrinkled. She straightened them carefully and handed them to Mikal, who took them and immediately got up to put them in a drawer of his desk. He also took out a sealed envelope. "I will give them to him. He also has sent a letter for you." He handed her the envelope and she immediately recognized the Cousland seal on the wax closing the envelope. The paper felt rough under her fingers and she looked at it for a moment, longing to open it immediately and read the lines. It had been a while since she had gotten news from him. Instead she packed it away and closed the pack, pushing it behind her stool with one leg.

"Also, because I value you deeply and especially in cases where you get to stab people we do not like in vital organs, a little present. From me to you, with utmost love and a tad relief that it is out of my hands now", Mikal said and she looked up in surprise, just in time to see a huge smile light up his face.

She tentatively took the vial he was handing her and held it up against the light to look at it more closely. It contained a fine white powder that had been meticulously grinded for quite some time by the looks of it. She was not absolutely sure, but it did not look like any of her usual ingredients. Ripping her attention from the powder, she saw Mikal grin like the cat that swallowed the canary. "A poison from the far shores of Seheron, or so I am told, it is an extract from the Death Nut. I was told even low amounts can paralyze and higher doses stop lungs and heart", he explained proudly and she could not help the smile that formed on her lips.

Without bothering with a reply she got up and hugged him close. He squeezed her briefly and leaned back to wink at her. "I even made sure I got the proper recipe with it this time, since you scolded me quite badly for my last present." With that he produced a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to her. "I did not scold you", Aífe defended herself, taking it and looking over it briefly. Sounded easy enough, although she would have to be extremely careful when handling the powder. "I just told you that a poison without knowledge is suicide. Thank you, Mikal. I do appreciate it!"

As she turned to walk back to the stool, she saw that Alistair seemed a tiny bit dubious. Well, dubious might be an understatement. He looked as though he was praying to the Maker. Nelaros seemed unfazed by the exchange, but then, he had witnessed the like and worse. "Relax", she told them and quickly stashed the present away. "I know how to handle these kinds of substances." Somehow, Alistair seemed rather more concerned than less so.

He was saved from more of her explanations by a knock at the door. The crewmate entered and told them that the children were already eating and then led them to the mess. Aífe recognized him as a Ferelden refugee Mikal had picked up in Starkhaven quite a few months ago and offered him a smile, asking about his young wife and life on board. They ate together with the children. It was easy to forget the time with Mikal – he spoke of his journey and the storm they had endured just two days ago, of Highever and the changes within the city and many more things. At the end he chose the story of a notorious pirate and the treasure he had buried somewhere on an island in the Waking Sea. They left the mess and the children with some difficulty – Nelaros had to explain them yet again why they had to go alone, how long it would take and that they would be safe. Only then they could return to Mikal's cabin for a glass of wine and some stories he had heard about unrests in Orlais and at Ferelden's border.

When Aífe looked out of the small window, she noticed with some trepidation that it had already gotten dark. She got to her feet and tapped Grimm's nose lightly, making him get up as well. "I think we need to leave now, before the turn of the tide. You should leave now, there might be people looking for the children." Mikal sighed and got up as well, opening the door for her. "I guess there is no way to convince you to stay the night and rest?", he asked and looked from her to the others.

She stopped in her tracks and turned so abruptly that Alistair almost crashed into her. Reflexively lifting her hand, she felt it connect with his chest before she really registered her own movement. He looked down at her in puzzlement, raising an eyebrow. "Actually, it just occurred to me… Alistair, would you like to return to Ferelden?", she asked and his second eyebrow shot up as well. He took a step away from her, brows furrowing as he regarded her for a moment. "My brother is always in need of good soldiers, you would be more than welcome in Highever", she told him and cocked her head to the side, when he shifted his gaze away from her and shook his head. "If the soldier-life does not suit you, there are many other positions. We always need farmers, workers as well as merchants. Everybody is welcome." When he looked at her again, she almost took a step back herself. There was intensity in his whiskey-coloured eyes that ingrained every word he said into her memory. "There is no place for me in Ferelden. Thank you for your offer, though. It was kind." He motioned towards the door, suddenly impatient. "We should leave."

She was at a loss for words for a moment – something that rarely ever happened – but she quickly recovered and nodded, following Mikal out of the cabin and up the stairs. "As you wish. Should you ever change your mind and find yourself in need of work, just contact my brother and tell him I sent you. He will help", she said, unwilling to let it go so easily. Many people had fled Ferelden during the Blight – less so from Highever than from Gwaren and the southern Bannorns, but still… with both the refugees and the men and women lost during the war, everyone could be of use. Especially a young and vital man such as Alistair.

As they had left the ship, Mikal stood before them and sighed deeply. "I wish you would for once stay longer than just a moment, my dove. Life is boring without you." She chuckled and shrugged. "And here I thought you would appreciate a reprieve from all the damp forests and stinking camps", she teased. "Ah, I'd endure it for the sake of your presence, my dear." He hugged her, his hands rubbing over her back in a soothing motion. "Until we meet again, Aífe."

Then he turned to Nelaros, shaking his hand accompanied with a slap on the back – would they never stop doing that? – and also wished Alistair good-bye. Lastly, he dropped to one knee and patted Grimm affectionately. "Look after them, will you? They always get into trouble." The Mabari barked and licked over Mikal's face, before the captain got up and looked at them for a while. Then he bowed to them and returned to the ship, already shouting commands.

Aífe felt her stomach tie into a knot as she looked at the ship for a moment, a brief feeling that was treacherously close to yearning manifesting itself. She quickly turned away, heading back towards the path they had come from. Pulling a little bag from a pocket in her belt, she opened it and removed the coins within, counting the silver she owed Alistair. Then she quietly handed it to him with a smile. "Thank you, you have been of great help", she said and knew how lame it sounded. "I really meant what I said. Should you ever care to return to Ferelden, Fergus will help you. Either way, I would suggest you do not stay in Kirkwall. It is not a very good place to live in."

Nelaros drew up alongside them, standing close to her. "Aífe…", he said and she almost flinched. She knew what he wanted to say and she had thought about it a hundred times during the night already. Alistair would make a fine addition to their team and it would certainly solve some of her problems – especially those that consisted of gigantic men wielding mauls of doom. The Templar training he had also could come in handy. Worrying her lower lip, she regarded him. Yes, he would be a good addition, but the prize was too high.

She could not afford to pay him during all their travelling, not if she needed the coins for bribes and information. Moreover – and that was her bigger concern – it was not exactly an occupation that could be considered healthy. Nelaros had come because of loyalty and personal reasons. Grimm had come because he would not let her leave alone to the point of swimming after the ship rather than staying behind. Alistair, however, did not seem very keen on their company and she understood him. The last two days had shown how wrong things could go.

Alistair put away the coins without even counting them, further proving to her that he truly had never really cared about the money, whatever he himself said. "You are welcome", he said, a bit gruffly and then shook his head again, but did not answer her. Instead, he just watched her awkwardly and she had the impression that he wanted to say something. But then he pressed his lips closed and nodded again, extending his hand towards her. "I am glad I could help and I wish you all the best for your future. I really do. Stay safe and good luck", he wished her and she shook his hand. There it was again. The stone settling in her guts.

He shook Nelaros' hand and patted Grimm and then, with a wave, split ways with them, heading back towards the city. She watched him for quite a while, and wondered... No, it was for the best. When he vanished behind a rock-formation, she sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. Well, too late now in any case.

"We will pick up the blankets and packs from the cave and then return to the house at the docks", she told Nelaros and started walking. "Tomorrow morning we leave the city and move to a smaller village. I do not want to risk anybody finding us." The elf walked beside her, still looking at the rock formation. "Are you sure it was the right decision?", he asked quietly. "No, not really. However, it was the most sensible one at this time. Who knows where we have to go next? I do not want to bring even more people into this." He nodded, but she knew him well enough to interpret the slight frown as disagreement. "He is the best fighter you have hired in a while and his abilities against mages would be more than welcome should we have to face another Tevinter magister. It would also mean you do not have to step between us and enemies", he said and she didn't even turn to look at him. "I know. It would also mean yet another person that risks his life and he has little reason to. Let us just leave it at that, Nelaros, I am tired."

"As you wish, my lady." She cringed at those words, knowing full well that the only reason he did not pursue the topic was that even after all this time he still could not stop seeing her as the Teyrn's daughter. Too exhausted to argue, she kept her mouth shut, though, and except for a bit of mindless banter they spoke almost nothing on their way to the cave and further on to the city.

It had turned dark by the time they arrived in Lowtown and Grimm walked close at her side, yawning every once and again. Aífe lifted her right arm and rolled her shoulder softly, willing the tension to fade. She did not like Kirkwall, she decided once again as they walked and she looked at all the grey walls and red banners blowing in the wind. It looked dreadful and bleary. Grey in grey, as though the whole city was in some way between life and death, but neither here nor there. Looking up at the tall houses all around, she crinkled her nose in thought. Probably closer to death than life.

"Look out!"

Her hand was on her fighting dagger before she fully registered that she knew the voice. She turned, her gaze jumping from corner to corner, but all she saw were shadows. Grimm pushed past her, ears perked as he looked towards the stairs. She followed his look, heart in her mouth.

Alistair in a full-out run. He had shield and sword drawn.

"Quick!"

She drew the dagger and turned, eyes scanning hurriedly, but unseeing. She heard nothing, only her heart hammering in her chest. Adrenaline was rushing into her blood as she turned again, shifting desperately.

The shadows sprung to life and she barely dodged the blade aiming for her throat.

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**Author's Note:**  
>Whoa. I mean... whoa. This chapter seriously turned out way longer than I thought it would. I guess it is Mikal's fault, because I really wanted to give him a few moments and introduce him properly, because he's such a little cutie-pie. AND TOTALLY NOT A PIRATE. Nooooo. No pirates here, Sers! In case you wonder, I decided that Rivaini speak Spanish. Why? Because Rivain seems to be modeled after Spain. I know that Antiva actually has the Spanish language already claimed for itself, but figured it's only three words anyhow and since there is no official hint, I will go with what makes sense in my head. _ (Might not make sense in any other head)<br>I am not completely satisfied with this chapter, I have to say. It is way longer than I had aimed for and somehow, I felt like I might babble to much and say too little. I hope that I did not bore you and that the explanations actually worked. =) Let me know what you think of this chapter, I hope you could enjoy at least in some way. And of course... **THANK YOU EMMA.** I asked about a hundred questions, which you patiently answered and assured me that this is not total crap. X'D So thank you for that. =) Thank you also to you guys who favoured this story or put it on alert, I really, really appreciate it - and last but not least, thanks for the lovely reviews, **alyssacousland, Graymalkyn, EkoCentric **and **reality deviant**.  
>On a sidenote. MWAHAHAAH. CLIFFHANGER.<br>I'm sorry. (Only not very, because I had planned this for ages and I quite like what's coming in chapter 12 in a crazy-author-kinda-way.)

Anyhow, let me know what you think - I am as always open for constructive critique, suggestions, questions and warning if my character starts to become out of character (although, admittedly, the game doesn't give us much to go on for Nelaros and Alistair will turn less grumpy, I promise).

**EDIT:**

A big thank you to a friend of mine and **Graymalkyn** for helping me with the bits of Spanish in here, the ships name was changed to "Reina del Océano", which should mean "Ocean Queen". Also, as another note on the language thing - the ship-name is Antivan and thereby Spanish, since we have that language confirmed for Antiva, at least. =) As mentioned above, Mikal as Rivaini speaking Spanish has no 100% proof in the codex-entries, as all we know is that there are strong influences of Spain for Rivain, but perhaps also African influences for the tattoos/piercings/skin color in a way. I still decided to go with Spanish, because I always interpreted Thedas to be "European" in terms of cultures and languages, plus, I have not the slightest clue about African languages, save perhaps for what is spoken in Johannesburg, as that sounds a tiny bit German. To keep this short, the choice of language is my interpretation, but I would be very glad to discuss it and listen to any other suggestions/interpretations, if anybody has found hints in the codex/lore. :) */end of babbling*


	12. Dying Shadows

**Chapter 12 – Dying Shadows**

He was too late, _damn it all_, he was just a minute too late.

The blade slashed out and he thought it would for sure rip Aífe's throat open, but she reeled back just in time, a movement born from instinct rather than any conscious act. Off-balance, she threw herself to the side and barely managed to stay on her feet as she drew a second shorter dagger.

He was running, his armour clattering with each step. His shoulder hurt, he felt the blood running down his chest, sticky and hot. Still so far away. His heart was hammering away.

The hound all but erupted from where he had stood, fangs bared as he pushed himself off for a wide jump, paws hammering against chest, jaws clamping shut on a raised arm even as he tumbled down with the man.

Sword and shield perfectly balanced in his hands and gleaming in the moonshine. Blood on his blade, dripping with each step, and he could smell iron and death. There was something he had not felt in a long time, a year – no, longer. Fear. _Don't let it be too late, not too late._

Nelaros drew the bow from his shoulder, moving back and already pulling an arrow from the quiver, eyes wide as he nocked the arrow and drew the string back. He let fly and reached for another arrow, bowstring still quivering.

One slipped from the shadows, snake-quick, dagger thrust towards Aífe. She parried with a grunt and then stepped close, hammering her knee into the attacker's groin and as the man doubled over, she buried the short dagger in his exposed neck. When it did not come free immediately, she abandoned it, raising her left arm to block a sword glancing towards her. The dull sound as the blade connected with the bone-plate on her gauntlet and her grunt as she bent her knees to lessen the impact made his skin crawl.

_Not too late_, he thought, and moved between her and her opponent, bringing up his shield to easily parry the next blow. She turned, drawing another fighting dagger, now standing back to back with him. Another figure appeared out of the shadows and he heard the blades clash behind him. Allowing himself to settle into the familiar rhythm, he parried and attacked, moved with his opponent, Aífe always at his back without so much as a single spoken word.

His heart was hammering, but he found breathing easier now. Grimm snarled menacingly, tearing into an archer that had slipped from the shadows and already drawn back the bowstring. The sound of bones breaking could be heard over the clashing of weapons. His opponent looked away, just a second, and he stepped in – a heavy bash of his shield against the man's chest, robbing him of breath, then the final blow cutting deep into his neck. The blood spurted out, staining shield and sword further.

An arrow whizzed past his ear, so close that he could hear the angry hiss and flinched instinctively. It had not been one of Nelaros' arrows. He turned just in time to see Aífe cut another one out of the air, barely preventing it from hitting her square in the throat. Her eyes flashed over him and without a word, she moved around him, quick as a cat, once again assuming her position against his back. He moved at the same moment she did, bringing up his shield to protect both their bodies. The hail of arrows that followed could not get past it and he waited patiently, well aware of a man's suffocated gurgle behind him.

Aífe had lashed out and rammed the hilt of her dagger against the next attacker's throat, crushing his windpipe and making him collapse, clutching at his neck desperately. She wasted no time, pushing her fighting dagger deep into his chest through the simple leather armour, while she slashed the other one over his throat.

Gritting his teeth Alistair used the moment in which the hail of arrows ceased to sprint forward, shield still in a protective position. A blade glanced off it, then he swept out with his blade, but was parried. In a movement that had long since become a second nature to his attacks, he lashed out with his shields, the sharpened upper edge cutting into skin and muscle alike. He finished off the archer, but when he turned, he almost froze.

Nelaros had drawn a sword and had dropped his bow, but stood now motionless, blinking rapidly. He stared at the dagger buried in his chest, almost as if terribly surprised. His opponent was on one knee, but quickly regaining awareness of his surroundings. Nelaros blinked again, stumbling, and raised his sword above his head with a pained groan, then he brought it down heavily, cutting into the back of the woman in front of him. He stumbled again, letting go off the sword, and dropped to his knees, eyes still wide. His hand went up, feebly grasping at the dagger. Blood was pooling under his knees. The woman in front of him was rising again.

Alistair started running, but had to slide to a stop when he saw yet another archer emerge, drawing his bow and aiming at the elf. He moved between them, engaging the archer, who immediately dropped his bow in favour of two short swords. Able to look at Aífe now, he could see the exact moment she registered what had happened to Nelaros.

He saw the shock register in her eyes, all expression leaving her face. She took one shaky breath – it lasted no longer than a second, then she dropped her dagger and drew a knife, throwing it in a flash-quick move. It hit the woman in side of her face, making her drop forward with a cry. Aífe hesitated for a just a moment, but it was too long. She saw too late that her opponent had regained his footing, even though she had made him drop his two-handed axe and slashed his hands. Her muscles bunched as she tried to move, but too late – the man's fist smashed right into her face. The cut on her brow broke open, blood flooding her face, but she did not even register it anymore.

Her knees gave way and she fell, barely bringing up her arms to brace the impact. She let go off the dagger, her legs completely still as she braced one hand against the floor. There was one vain try to push herself upright, but she slumped down again.

Alistair's heart was in his mouth and he hammered his shield against the archer, ignoring the screeching of the blade against it, and followed with another bash and yet another. The sand-haired warrior brought his sword down in one fell swoop, the blade clashing against the chainmail the man wore. He knew the force was enough to shatter the man's collarbone.

Aífe was shaking, feet slipping out from underneath her as she tried to get up, her fingers buried into the earth. Her face was stained red from the blood and her opponent had leisurely picked up his axe, coming to stand over her.

With a cry Alistair pulled back his sword and hammered his shield against the man one last time, making him fall back, unconscious. He brought his sword down, cutting through vessels and muscle alike. _Too late_, he thought, _just a second too late_.

A shadow shot out from besides Alistair, hurtling past him at neck-breaking speed and in a flash of teeth, Grimm hurdled over his mistress, launching himself at the axe-wielder. His jaws clamped shut around the man's right arm and he tore him down, shaking his head savagely and with true rage. Fangs tore into muscle, claws raking over armour and skin alike. The axe lay forgotten on the ground as the attacker fought for his life.

Alistair arrived just in time to see the hound launch forward, tearing into the man's throat – there had never been a chance for him. Aífe was stirring, shaking her head, as she feebly tried to regain her footing. Looking around he grabbed her arm and pulled her up against him, hoping she would be able to keep standing.

She wavered and he pulled her closer, shielding her with his body as he glanced around, willing his eyes to pierce the thick shadows. After but a moment he felt her gloved hand on his, the leather sticky-hot with blood. "Nelaros", she breathed and pushed him forward and towards the elf that was lying on the ground motionless. He hesitated, seeing movements everywhere and nowhere. "Please." Her voice was barely a whisper and with a last glance at her, he started running toward the elf.

Nelaros was motionless, his face deathly pale. He had ripped the dagger from his chest, hilt still in his cramping hand. They needed a healer – and fast. The wound was bleeding heavily and Alistair had no idea what he could do to help the elf. Just as he was about to put down his shield, he saw a shadow looming over him and whirled around, coming face to face with a black clothed woman that had appeared out of thin air. He could barely raise his shield in time to block her nasty-looking dagger, feeling the force behind the blow. He moved back and away from Nelaros, making her move with him. She was tougher than the others and he felt himself settle into the steady rhythm of defence and offence, between giving way and moving in again – like a dance, but just one wrong step could mean the end. She was aiming at his face more often than not.

What she had not seen coming was Grimm, who without uttering any sound closed his jaws around her calf, pulling her leg out from under her. Her armour looked thick and difficult to penetrate, but she had lost her helmet as she wrestled to keep the hound away from her throat and Alistair took the chance, blade cutting into her neck with ease. He felt sweat trickling down his face and the bleeding was stronger now. Blood was tripping over his hip to his knee and down to the floor. _Breathe_, he reminded himself, _just breathe_.

Turning, he came face to face with a young elf, barely old enough to be of age. He had not heard the youth advancing and did not have time to bring up his shield. A dagger raked over his chest, glancing off the chainmail, but with bruising force. He jumped back, but before he could do anything, the elf uttered a gurgling sound, blood spurting from his mouth in foamy bubbles. The boy stumbled as Aífe pulled the needle-fine stiletto out from his back, stabbing it back in again with one savage motion. She had slipped the blade in between the metal-plates set in the leather with deadly accuracy, piercing lung twice. Moving back, she let go off him and he fell to the ground. Without a word or another glance at the attackers, Aífe dropped to her knees besides her comrade, tenderly brushing a hand over his hair.

"Nelaros, can you hear me?", she was bracing herself on one arm, bent over him. As Alistair moved closer, he kept a lookout, turning to look around them, his heart still racing. The elf murmured quietly, opening his eyes. The pupils were wide, his look glassy. He was barely able to focus on anything, gaze wandering as he reached out with one hand. Aífe took it into hers, groaning as she shifted her weight to be able to look at him better. Her blood was dripping on Nelaros' chest as she did. "It will be alright, do you hear me?", she whispered and frantically wiped an arm over her brow. His eyes drifted shut and she reached out, a hand on his cheek. "Hey, look at me! Look at me, Nelaros!" Alistair could hear the panic in her voice and gritted his teeth. There was too much blood.

Nelaros opened his eyes again, unseeing, murmuring softly under his breath. "Grimm, the pack! Bring me my pack!", Aífe shouted, squeezing her friend's hand tightly. "Do you hear me, Nelaros? Nel! It will be fine, I promise. Look at me!" She was rubbing his hand between hers now, her eyes scanning over his body. "Nel, it will be fine", she whispered, leaning forward to look at the wound. She brought her hands down on it, putting weight into it, trying to stench the flow of blood. Nelaros uttered a suffocated scream, back arching and almost throwing her off. "So much to do, remember?", she kept babbling, a smile plastered on her face that was so fake that even Alistair could tell. "Nel, just keep listening to my voice. It will be fine, everything will be alright."

Grimm came closer, dropping the pack next to his mistress. His whole chest and his muzzle were tinted red, his fur still bristled as he listened into the now quiet night. As he sniffed the air, he suddenly zeroed in on their fallen friend, drawing closer. His nose almost touched Aífe's hands, before he reeled back as if stung. An angry growl resonated from deep within his chest.

Startled she pulled one hand back, now coated in the elf's blood, and lifted it to her own nose. Her eyes widened as she gazed at her hand and then back at him. Alistair saw her lips move and knew she was cursing, albeit tonelessly. Pressing He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, anxiously looking around. Were more on the way? They did not have much time.

Aífe started to rummage through the pack with one hand, the other still pressed tightly onto the wound, pulling out a flask that contained a health poultice. She moved around Nelaros, lifting his head into her lap and quickly opened the flask and held it to his lips. "This will help, just drink a few sips." Alistair was not sure if the elf was still conscious as most of the liquid ran over his lips and chin, dripping down to the floor uselessly. "Cold", Nelaros muttered and coughed, eyes drifting shut again.

Alistair thought to see a movement in the shadows, already lifting his sword again, but nothing happened. He felt hot, sweat forming above his upper lip. There was no telling when more would come, they could be anywhere. They could be watching them now. Grimm stalked around them in circles, ears perked, a quiet snarl lifting his flews.

"No, do not do this, Nel. Look at me", she murmured and loyal as ever the smith turned his head, forcing his eyes open. "It will be fine", she said and stressed every word, "but I do need you to stay awake. Drink a bit more." She forced most of the poultice down his throat and then, helplessly turned to look up at Alistair. One eye shut, momentarily blinded by her own blood and a beginning swelling, she shifted her weight and spoke, her voice low. "Can you carry him?" Worry was etched into her features, a stark contrast to the controlled and almost neutral face she had worn before.

Alistair looked around one more time, slowly sheathing his sword and strapping his shield to his back. "Yes", he said. He felt strangely faint, much more so than he usually should. He shook his head. Apparently he had lost much more of his strength than he had thought. Sweat was dripping down his neck and he felt the throbbing of the wound in his chest. The blood flow had stopped and he had not lost enough blood to warrant the slight dizziness rising. "The wound, though...", he voiced his doubts, looking at the red pool that had spread around Nelaros.

"There could be more any moment. We need to get to the house", she said quietly, hand brushing through the elf's short hair, murmuring his name quietly.

"It might bleed even more when I carry him", Alistair said again, wiping sweat off his brow. "It might not matter if we stay here too long", she answered, not even looking at him. The warrior gazed at her, seeing her motion towards the pack as Grimm came loping back and picked it up, her eyes on Nelaros.

"You should take your weapons", Alistair murmured and saw her hesitate for a moment, before she moved around the battle-field, collected her daggers and sheathed them bloodied as they were. By the time she returned, he had lifted the elf into his arms and nodded her to lead the way. Already he could feel the strain in his arms, they would have to move quickly.

"One more thing", she said and Alistair looked at her unbelievingly as she kneeled beside the woman that had stabbed Nelaros. Apparently she was in a bad shape, albeit still alive. Aífe's face hardened as she grabbed the woman's arm briskly and heaved her upright with a grunt, their attacker's head lolling against her shoulder. The only reason Aífe could so much as move her was that the woman was an elf and rather light-weighted, but it would slow them down. As she struggled to stand, she also picked up the dagger with which Nelaros had been wounded.

"What are you doing?", he exclaimed, looking around again. She looked up, locking eyes with him. Her face was perfectly expressionless, but the look in her eyes was murderous as she shook the woman until she regained enough consciousness to stand and then Aífe heaved her forward with each step, forcing her to keep walking with the dagger held to her back.

"There was poison on that dagger", Aífe said tonelessly and moved ahead of him. "I do not know which poison and without knowing I can do nothing against it. This one will know, though. If you use poison, you know what it is – and how to cure it. I need her." Her back was tense as she moved and Alistair's gaze drifted to the elf in his arms. Nelaros looked pale and barely kept his eyes open, murmuring something. It sounded like a name.

It seemed ages until they reached the small house in the corner on the docks. Nobody was on the streets and they arrived unnoticed – but Alistair did not wonder. At the first signs of fighting, people left the streets and did not return for some time.

Aífe opened the door for them and pushed the woman to the floor roughly, before she quickly returned to help Alistair set down the elf on the cot. Flitting around, she lighted candles and put them close by, then went to rummage in a cupboard. She produced yet another health poultice and moved closer to make Nelaros drink more of it, but Alistair doubted much actually reached the elf's stomach. There were pearls of perspiration on the man's brow and he closed his eyes every now and again, until Aífe touched a hand to his face or spoke his name warningly.

Grimm was walking with a slight limp and after he had set down the pack, he turned to look at the woman Aífe had brought, now curled up in a corner, holding a hand to her bleeding face. He drew up his flews, exposing his fangs warningly as he drew closer to her and stopped just out of reach, watching her.

Aífe pressed a bandage on top of Nelaros wound and bound it with as much strength as she had left – it took her several minutes and already the white fabric was turning red. The elf had little strength left and his protest was weak as his head lolled from one side to the other. She wiped her brow again. Her bleeding had lessened, but the swelling around one eye had gotten worse and she still held it closed.

A droplet of sweat ran down Alistair's neck. He swallowed. "What happened?", she asked and he resisted the urge to shake his head. It was throbbing. "I returned to my room, they were waiting for me. They asked after you, when I did not answer, they attacked. I tried to warn you", he told her and she nodded. If possible, she turned even paler as she looked at him, suddenly moving forward to grasp his hand and pull him towards the chair, where she made him sit.

"You are bleeding", she said faintly and looked back at Nelaros. She cursed – not loud enough for him to understand a word, but her expression said enough. "I had not noticed, I am so sorry, I should not have made you carry – Oh, I am such an idiot. Sit still!" He tried to catch her by her arm, but she was already out of his reach, opening cupboards and knocking over bottles, before she returned with more flasks, each of them a tell-tale red.

"You are bleeding too", Alistair said as she tried to loosen the buckles holding his armour in place. He finally was able to catch her hands in his. "Nelaros is in a much worse condition, look after him. I am alright." She was worrying her lip again and looked torn, gazing between him and the elf, before she indeed left his side to return to the cot, but not before pressing a poultice into his hands.

He uncorked it and drank deeply, but while he could feel strength seep back into his limbs and his head clear, it did not feel normal. The wound in his chest was still throbbing and he felt hot, much too hot.

When Aífe suddenly stood in front of him, he jerked upright, completely surprised. He hadn't noticed her move. She pressed a hand to his brow, and then put it under his chin to lift it and look into his eyes. Somehow, this felt eerily familiar. Any moment now she'd call him an idiot.

"Do you know who they were?", she asked and put the hand on his neck. He tried to think, but it was difficult. Perhaps if she would stop touching him and looking at him like that, he would be able to. Breathing was the trick. _Just breathe_. "I don't know. I figured friends of the men from yesterday", he said. Her blood dripped onto his chest and he blinked, following the trail it left on his chainmail with his eyes.

"Probably. How do you feel? Are you hot? Do you have a headache?", she leaned closer and he would have leaned back, but then he would probably have toppled over. What was it with her and the invasion of personal space? "I am fine", he repeated and she glared at him. He really did not know how he had deserved that.

"Alistair, I think you might have been poisoned as well. I cannot deduce the poison like this, there are many with these effects – and I cannot just use a random antidote, it might make matters worse", she said. She had at some point pulled off her gloves, he registered, and somehow she managed to keep her hands completely steady. It puzzled him how she was able to open the buckle securing his chest piece and the shoulder guard so easily, removing them with a grunt as she lifted them off of him. Air touched the wound, where one of the attackers had slipped in a dagger just between the two parts of the armour. Had he not been fighting for his life back then, he might have admired the handiwork of the man. She touched a finger to the wound and he gritted his teeth, then she whistled and let Grimm sniff it. The hound backed off, growling and turning to look at Nelaros, a whine replacing the growl. "I think it is the same poison", she murmured and left his side again, returning to Nelaros. Grimm trotted back towards the woman in the corner, watchful eyes focused on her unmoving form.

Alistair closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Of course they had poisoned him. If he would get a sovereign for every time he got poisoned, he'd have... well... He had no idea, he had not really kept count. But at least two, he was pretty sure. The combination of poison, blood loss and damaged tissue would kill Nelaros, no matter how many health poultices Aífe had left. They could slow the process, give them time. But they didn't work against poison.

"There is a healer in Darktown", he heard himself say. She was probably right, he had been poisoned too. At least that would explain why he could simply not recover and why his heart was not slowing down. On the plus side, he was not as bad in a condition as he had feared. On the negative side, being poisoned was probably not very beneficial. He chuckled at the thought.

"A healer?", Aífe asked an returned to his side, putting another flask in his hands. "An apostate, he is from Ferelden and I have heard that he is very good. Anders is his name", he explained and willed his heart to stop racing. It didn't obey. The taint probably battled the poison, which would explain why Nelaros drifted in and out of consciousness while he could still sit upright. Realistically, a healer was their only chance. Even without the poison, Nelaros' wound was bad.

"I cannot leave you alone here", she whispered and buried her hands in her hair, looking back at her friend and then at Grimm and the woman, who had fallen unconscious again. "You'll have to", he murmured and with some effort heaved himself upright to stand again. She cast him a glance and looked as helpless as he felt. "Can you find the antidote?", he asked and cursed the tickle of the sweat pearls running down his spine. The noble lowered her gaze and shook her head. "Not in time with that wound", she admitted, gaze wandering to Nelaros. "Then there's little choice. I can still fight, I will keep watch", he offered.

"You are poisoned", she interjected and shook her head. "I cannot-" She stopped herself and then pulled a rope from her pack, moving to the woman and binding her arms and hands briskly, pulling them tighter than probably necessary. Straightening, she turned to look at him and Grimm, already moving to the door. "I am so sorry", she muttered and grabbed a few flasks of different colour, putting them in a pocket on her belt. She stopped at the cot, leaning over Nelaros to stroke over his forehead. "I will be back, Nel. Keep awake, do you hear me? This is important, very important. Keep awake, for my sake, Nel."

She reached the door, turning to look at Alistair. "Keep giving him health poultices. I will return as fast as I can." He nodded, wondering if he had been truthful when he said that he could still fight. The air in the little house was suffocating, as was her gaze when she locked eyes with him. She was desperate.

Grimm pushed past him and made as if to follow, but she took his head between her hands and shifted her gaze to him. "Nelaros needs you, Grimm. You need to protect him and Alistair. Kill anybody who enters without me." The hound whined, ears drawn back as he looked at her.

With one last look at him, she slipped through the door and he could hear the pounding of her footsteps as he moved to Nelaros' side, uncorking another poultice. "You heard the lady", he murmured, "Keep your eyes open." It was then that he knew he was truly, absolutely lost. He cared. He really did.

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**Author's comment**:  
>... BOOM, BABY!<p>

Yeah. I am sorry, kinda. But only not really, because I like the drama and Alistair and the chapter (which doesn't happen too often). I hope the fight-scene turned out as nice as it sounded in my head and that it all is logical. =) And, of course, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will leave a comment/suggestion/constructive criticism/question/whatever else you feel like saying! I know poor Nelaros took most of the damage, but he is after all not a very good close-range-fighter (as we see in the City Elf Origin ._.) and mostly an awesome smith and archer (at least in this fic). Also, Alistair had a realization. Also, Aífe will get very nasty very soon. Aaaaand you might be able to guess the next cameo (at least one of them. :D)  
>Anyhow, I think this is one of the few chapters I actually like and I hope you like it as well. :)<br>As always, big fat thanks to **Emma** (who is sitting next to me because she is visiting YAAAAAAY) for reading and providing comments and answering my questions about details and details of details. :3


	13. Breathless

**Chapter 13: Breathless**

Fingers, red with blood, glistening in the dim light of the street lanterns. Not her blood though.

_Never hers._

She was running through the dark streets and her lungs were burning with each breath she took, the sound of her steps echoing dangerously loud. Her head was throbbing and the pain made her feel a bit dizzy. No time for subtlety, though, no time to waste even a second. Her fingers were so red, so very red.

"_If I come with you, you won't make it out before the gates fall", he says and grabs her hand. His grip is painful and she winces, but cannot look away, cannot move, cannot speak. "Please", he says, "Go while you have the chance." His hair is fire and his eyes are steel and he pushes her away. She stumbles, rights herself again and tries to remember how to breathe. He smiles at her and deep inside she starts to crumble._

Hastily wiping the blood from her brow, she increased her pace. More assassins could be around every corner, but at this point she had to pray for some luck this night. Her hand gripped her dagger tighter and she climbed the stairs taking two at once, feeling the strain in her leg muscles. In her head she went through each and any poison she knew. Digitalis? No, the symptoms did not fit completely. Perhaps Deathroot, but surely not alone. Sweating and racing heartbeat. Dilated pupils. Strychnine? No, they had not vomited.

Aífe left the Docks behind and entered one of the many dark side streets of Lowtown, hoping to save herself some time and avoid the corpses they had left behind. She felt weighed down. With each step, each breath, her necklace got heavier. It was cutting into her skin, she was sure of it, digging itself deeper and deeper into her neck. The amulet resting between her breasts felt like red-hot.

"_The castle is surrounded. I cannot make it." The words cut deeper than any blade. She is shaking, terrified. "You will not die of Howe's treachery. You will live, pup. You will make your mark on the world", he says with eyes just like hers. She is scared, so very scared. Why does he look at her like that? She holds onto him, desperate, fingers digging deep into his skin as he coughs. Red. So much red._

Aífe stumbled, barely catching her fall, and cursed under her breath. Breathing grew harder and she forced herself to breath steadily and focus her thoughts. The necklace was torrid hot and she brought up a hand, but it was beneath the leather armor and impossible to reach like this. How could it be so hot? It was just silverite. _And memories. _She gritted her teeth and welcomed the pang of pain that lanced through her brow. Belladonna, that could be a part of it. The dilated pupils, the convulsions, flushing, slurred speech. Blurred vision, too? She had not asked him.

"_Darling, you have to leave. You have a better chance if you go alone. I will stay with your father", her mother says. They speak, but the words just roll over her. She cannot breathe. She wants to scream, to cry. "Please", she says, finally, and they look at her and she knows. "Please", she says again. "I am so sorry it has come to this", he says. She cannot breathe. "Go, pup." Don't. "Warn your brother." Don't speak. "And know that we love you, both." Please don't speak. "You do us proud." Please don't make me go. _

Aífe dug her nails into her skin and cut through a narrow courtyard, dagger gleaming. Belladonna most likely, but not alone, something else was causing the erratic heartbeat. There were too many possibilities, too many chances. With time she might have been able to find the components of the poison, but there was no time. Looking up she could see the tall houses of Hightown just up the stairs and not far from there she would find the entry to Darktown. There were people on the street, laughing and joking and strolling along without a sorrow in the world.

"Move it!", she snarled and did not even try to find a way around them, fully trusting on the effect of blood and dagger. They jumped out of her way, horrified expressions on their faces, but she just kept running. The pain was slowly fading away and was replaced by a numbness that was all too familiar. She welcomed it.

"_My lady", the man in her arms speaks, "It's bad, ain't it?" He does not open his eyes and she is grateful. Her face would have betrayed her. "I have seen worse", she says. "It will be alright." She promises, wishes, prays. "Aye, it will", he agrees amiably and his voice sounds hoarse as he finally looks at her. His eyes are clear. He knows. "It's alright, lassie", he says and takes her hand to lift it from his wound. The blood flows. "Just hold my hand, will 'ya? Aye." _

Not far now, just a bit further. Darktown was a maze to her and she hated it – too many corners, too many dead ends, too many rats. Sweat was trickling down her back and the amulet smoldered painfully underneath her armor. She grabbed one of the many children down here by the arm – many Fereldan and few still remembering it – and asked the girl to bring her to the clinic. The girl was terrified and all but shaking in her boots, but eventually she led the way and Aífe followed hastily. She ignored the curious glances thrown her way and knew well enough that anybody and their grandmother would know within a few hours where she had been, should they ask around. The girl stopped in front of doors and timidly pointed at them, backing away already. She was terrified. Aífe whispered an apology, moving towards the doors.

_Fingers curl around hers. The woods are dark and cold, but the dawn is not far away. "I am scared", the soldier says. Me too. The soldier looks at her, eyes hazy and pupils dilated. A shock reaction. "It will be alright", she says but is not too sure. Breathe. Just breathe. She closes her hand around the soldier's, feels how cold his fingers are. No chance. "It is so dark", the soldier says as the sun rises. Yes, it is. "Lady Aífe…", the soldier whispers and his voice almost forsakes him. She forgets how to breathe._

Aífe shook her head, pressed the palm of her hand against her brow. The wound ached, as did her jaw, but as soon as she let her hand drop, the pain receded and left nothing but a numb throbbing. Good. She did not so much as slow down and simply pressed her hands against the door, throwing it open as she entered. The place was dark and smelled of blood and sicknesses, so much so that she almost recoiled.

A man whirled around and when his eyes fixed on her, his expression darkened. His skin cracked and the blue light bursting forth almost blinded her. It was reflex more than any conscious act when she stepped back and lifted her dagger in front of herself in one fluid motion. His eyes were glowing blue and she faltered for a moment. Abomination? Demon? She reached for the dagger strapped to her back, the slender blade hissing as she drew it. Please not now. There is no time!

_Their eyes haunt her. Fire and blood, pain and death. Even when she wakes the nightmares won't stop._

"**This place is a sanctum of healing and salvation**", the man said with a voice that was not his. He had picked up a mage staff and stretched out his hand as if to stop her, lightning crackling around his finger tips. Aífe's hair stood on end. "**Yet you enter with weapons drawn and blood on your hands. Do not make another step.**"

Already her thoughts were racing, analyzing the surroundings for cover and a better position to evade attacks when her eyes fell on a slim woman standing no more than a few steps away from the man. At first Aífe thought her old – her hair was silver-white and fell to her shoulders loosely. Only when the woman moved and inserted herself in between the two of them, bodily blocking the man, Aífe realized that it was in fact a young woman, probably younger than herself.

"Anders, calm down. This is not you speaking. Anders, please..." She spoke slowly and was clearly worried and for a moment Aífe thought the creature would turn on her with all its ire, but then the light receded and from one moment to the next, it was gone and in its stead stood a normal man. He looked tired, almost haunted, and he stumbled back, barely steadying himself on a table close-by. The woman immediately stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. If Aífe had not known better, she would have thought she had imagined everything.

The man looked up again and his brown eyes fixed on her form. To her surprise they seemed warm and she saw no trace of anger or rage – a stark contrast to the icy glow they had emitted before. "If you are wounded, you are welcome here. If you bring trouble, begone, I will not suffer it." Gone was the eerie tone in his voice and the low hum that it had held, now it was a pleasant baritone.

The woman had called him Anders and he was surely a mage. The healer. Reluctantly Aífe let her weapons sink, wondering if he truly was the man she was looking for. Her experience with mages and magic was limited, but she was fairly certain they were not supposed to glow blue. Or have skin cracking open. That sounded entirely out of her comfort zone.

Only hesitantly she sheathed one of her daggers, not leaving the two out of her sight. The necklace was digging into her skin still and it got harder to ignore the feeling. It felt as though the amulet touching her bare skin below her breast bindings left a scorching mark – and yet she knew it did not. It never did.

"I do not come here as an enemy", she said finally and tried to regain her breath. The woman was taller than she herself and slim of stature, she did not look like a warrior, yet displayed the easy grace and self assurance of somebody used to fighting. Her stance gave it away, she looked all but harmless. Anders seemed above all else exhausted, even if that added to his roguish handsomeness. He seemed weary of her and was still holding onto the edge of the table, using the staff in his other hand to keep himself upright. "I come seeking help. My friends are wounded – gravely so – and I am not sure how much longer they will last without healing magic."

A pearl of sweat was trickling down her spine and even through all the adrenaline and numbness she could feel the aching of her muscles. Under any other circumstances she would have left this place faster than she had entered it, but if he was indeed the healer Alistair had mentioned… then there was little choice. Nelaros had lost too much blood and the poison was potent. She took a deep breath and then also sheathed her second dagger under the scrutinizing looks of the two people. Ever so slowly she raised her arms, fingers outstretched, in a peace offering.

"I was told I would find a healer here. A man named Anders. I need your help", she spoke again and blinked when sweat mixed with blood trickled down over her brow into her right eye. Only now the man nodded slowly and pushed himself away from the table, worry evident on his face. "I am Anders", he said and came closer. "You should sit down, you are covered in blood." His voice sounded gentle as he offered her a chair. She could barely believe not more than a minute ago she would have sworn that he was an abomination. The blue light, the voice… but could he be an abomination if he still was capable to talk like this? She did not know and it worried her.

His words registered with delay and when she looked down at herself, she saw that he was right – she was covered in blood. Her hands were stained red up to the wrists and her armor was off little better. She blinked, shaking her head as she looked back up at him. "It is not mine." Most if it, anyhow.

"Be careful", the woman told him sharply when he started to walk towards Aífe and followed him just a few steps behind. Her honey-colored eyes were still on Aífe and she seemed to be ready to interfere. Her clothes were simple – a loose tunic and fitting breeches, but to Aífe it looked as though she was not used to move without armor or weapons. "It could be a trap for you", she said and locked eyes with Aífe. Her glare was almost scorching, a clear warning. Aífe did not mind, she had been on the receiving end of worse.

"It will be fine, Eynla", Anders said and tried to smile reassuringly, finally reaching Aífe. He raised his hands and without really thinking Aífe flinched away, barely able to keep herself from drawing her dagger once more. The memory of his glowing eyes and the cold fury were still vivid in her mind and yet she felt bad when he averted his eyes from her and let his hand sink again as if she had struck him.

"You said the Templars are hunting you", Eynla reminded him and came closer still, arms crossed in front of her chest. Aífe could not quite place her accent, but was sure that she too was from Ferelden. The woman seemed concerned for Anders and despite the sharp look she was casting Aífe, her main concern seemed to be for her friend.

Aífe glanced from her back to Anders, who looked at her with uncertainty and yet still turned to grab bandages from a table and several bottles from yet another, throwing them all into a pack that had been lying against the wall. "She needs help", he said firmly.

Aífe took a deep breath and brought her fingers to her neck, fumbling at the nape of her neck for the necklace. She could not grab it from underneath her armor, so she let her hand sink again. "I am Aífe Cousland of Highever, sister to the Teyrn of Highever. I give you my word that I came for help and nothing else. I can reward you handsomely for your help and I will not breathe a word to anyone. My friends need healing", she explained and hoped that the name would mean something to them. "Please."

Anders looked at her and relieve washed over her when he smiled again reassuringly. "I will help", he promised and then turned to look at his friend. "I have to do this, Eynla. I'm sorry." He shouldered his pack and stepped closer, once again raising his hand – much slower this time. "Let me heal that wound quickly", he offered gently. Before she could protest, he let his hand hover over her brow and she closed her eyes against the blue light that started to emanate from his palm. She could feel the magic seep into her skin and within moments the flesh knitted together and the throbbing receded almost completely. It was the most potent healing magic she had ever encountered.

"Don't say I didn't warn you", Eynla said finally and came over to join them, looking him over with a sigh. "I will come with you, maybe I can help." If Aífe judged the looks right, the woman still did not fully believe her. "Two healers is better than one, no?", Eynla asked.

Aífe clenched her teeth, weighing her options. "I have not heard of a second healer in Kirkwall. Who are you?", she asked and found it hard to keep the sharpness from her tone. The woman was an unknown as she did not even know if she trusted Anders, much less his friend.

"I am Eynla of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, a friend of Anders. I have been sent by the Warden Commander of Ferelden herself to Kirkwall and arrived just recently. I'd not expect you've heard of me", Eynla answered, arms still crossed in front of her chest. Yet another clear warning. Aífe tried to keep the surprise from showing and simply nodded. She had little time to argue with them and already wasted far too much.

"Thank you. We need to hurry", she told them finally and once she was sure they would follow, she immediately fell into a run again, leading the way back towards the small house at the docks. As they were running, Anders showed her little passages and side streets she had not known and they saw almost nobody on the streets. Concentrating mostly on her breathing and an even pace, she told them what she knew about the wounds – the blood loss, the poison, the severity. When she told them about the assassin she had brought along in the hope that she would be able to find out how to counter the poison, she could practically feel their eyes on her. Then she fell silent, straining to keep herself from starting to sprint mindlessly ahead.

They arrived at the little house in the docks after a felt eternity and Aífe only stopped for a moment, putting her hand on the handle. "It's me, Grimm." She could hear him whine and opened the door to slip in as soon as she could fit through the crack. The candle-light illuminated the room and Grimm immediately pressed himself against her, tail wagging as he cast her a worried glance. The assassin she had brought along was awake again, but was sitting quietly in the corner, pressed tightly against the wall. Her dark eyes were on Aífe and her lip was bleeding from where she had bitten it.

Aífe barely had time to register Alistair sitting on a chair next to the bed and Nelaros' deathly pale face, before her hound lunged past her with a snarl. Grimm drew up his flews and within moments his fur stood on end, his ears flat against his skull as he looked at the door. Aífe barely managed to grab him by his collar before he made another menacing step towards the two mages who stood now frozen in the doorframe.

"Grimm", she hissed and pulled him back towards her with difficulty. He was barking furiously, his attention completely focused on Anders. Aífe swallowed. The Mabari had shown such a reaction in the past – when demons or abominations were involved. Her grip tightened and she pulled him back against her chest as she leaned over him. As she looked up, she could see that Anders' expression had darkened as he looked at her, much like when she had flinched away from his touch. Whatever he was, she had to take the risk.

"Grimm, silence!", she said sharply and pointed at her side. "Stand down." Reluctantly the hound grew quiet, but she knew that every one of his muscles was bunched up for the jump and that he was watching the mage like a hawk – he barely took notice of Eynla, who entered closely behind Anders.

"Dogs don't like me", Anders said, almost apologetically, and she nodded dumbly. _Or whatever is inside you_, she thought. "I apologize. He will not harm you", she promised and only now noticed that Eynla was looking past her at Alistair, who had stood up and barely kept himself on his feet.

"Who are they?", he asked and when she turned she saw that he was gripping his sword tightly. He looked alarmed – no, almost horrified. Even when she had met him in his room he had not been so on edge. His wound had broken open again, she could see blood dripping from between his armor pieces and down his leg. The poison? It might have made him delirious. She stepped closer and put a hand on his arm, but he paid little attention to her, gaze fixed on the two healers. "They are both healers. This is Anders – you remember, no? You spoke of him, I went to him for help. This is Eynla, a friend of his. They will help", Aífe told him and felt him waver.

Another glance at Grimm showed that he was standing where she had left him, but had not backed down in the least – and while Anders seemed even more worried now, his prime concern was clearly Nelaros, as he pushed past them and towards the elf. He immediately set down his pack and moved to stand next to the bed, letting his hands hover over Nelaros' limb form. Eynla, however, regarded Alistair for far longer than necessary and Aífe felt him tense up even more.

This was quickly becoming a disaster. If by the end of the night everybody was still alive and in one piece, she would be surprised. The tension was so thick, she could have cut it with her dagger.

"Alistair?" He seemed to barely register that she had spoken. Only when she shook him gently did he turn to look at her, eyes unfocused and shoulders sagging. She turned to look at the others and found that Anders had already summoned his haling magic, a soft blue light emanating from his hands. It looked completely different from the blue glow he had adopted when she had entered his clinic. Eynla stood right next to him, examining the wound and carefully removing pieces of Nelaros' armor.

After a moment of hesitation she grabbed Alistair's arm tighter and made him follow her as she lead him into the backroom, where she made him sit on the bed. Perhaps if she got him further away from them, he would relax. "How do you feel?", she asked softly and could hear the quiet growling of Grimm as he watched the mages. Alistair looked at her like somebody who had only just woken up from deep sleep and shook his head as if to clear it. "Poisoned", he murmured. There was little argument against that, she assumed.

"Are you sure they are healers?", he asked suddenly and she bit her lip anxiously. From here she could not see the mages, only Grimm who was watching them carefully. They were talking about the wound and the complications caused by the poison, but she could not hear most of it. She was sure Anders was a healer. What else he was and how Eynla came into it all, that she did not know. But she did not think it very helpful to relay that information to Alistair at the moment.

"Anders is the healer you sent me to. They will help Nelaros and you", she said. He did not look convinced and she saw that he was clenching his jaw, fingers cramped into the blanket on the bed. "I will keep an eye on them. They will not harm you, I promise." Aífe kept her voice low and stepped into his line of sight, barring his view into the other room. He did not avert his eyes and simply stared through her.

With one last glance over her shoulder she made sure that Grimm was still watching the mages and then she looked back at Alistair. He seemed ready to bolt any moment now and was seemed to be lost in his thoughts. A bead of sweat was running down his neck, hovering over his collarbone for a moment – without even feeling for it, she could see that his pulse was racing.

"Let me help you out of your armor", she said and quickly went to work, unfastening and unbuckling sashes and pulling off armor pieces. He remained unmoving, eyes cast down now, and dug his fingers further into the blanket. "It will be alright, Alistair. They are both healers and the woman – Eynla – she is even a Grey Warden from Ferelden. She must be one of the new recruits the Warden Commander conscripted after the Battle of Denerim." If what Eynla had said was indeed true, anyhow. He went rigid for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then he closed it again and averted his eyes.

Aífe removed the last piece of armor and unconsciously started to worry her lower lip. The wound on the right side of his chest, just where breast plate and shoulder guard met, was still bleeding. Sweet clover? Moldy or rotten sweet clover caused severe bleeding in cattle and she had herself used it to coat her weapons, in high doses it could have severe effects and was easy to harvest.

Her expression darkened as she caught sight of the scar the arrow wound in his left shoulder had left, still pink and raw, even if it was fully closed and healed over. This was the second time he had received a wound aiding her. Without him, she did not know how this night's fight would have ended.

She moved away from the bed to get water, when his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her arm. Surprised she suppressed a yelp and cast him a glance, noticing that he was swaying alarmingly, already toppling over. She caught him with a grunt before his head hit the wooden bed frame and lowered him as gently as she could onto the mattress, lifting up his feet. "Stay awake, I will get one of the healers. It will be alright", she murmured and hastily pulled one dagger to cut open the tunic he was wearing to expose the wound. The blade that had caused it had been nasty – the edges were frazzled and even though the wound was small, it seemed to be deep. Aífe bit down hard on her lip, pushing the blanket under his head. She had not known he was this bad off, he had seemed so stable!

He was still gripping her arm, his skin burning hot, when he spoke quietly. "Who sent her?" Aífe gently pried his fingers off and once again looked at Grimm, who had not moved even a bit. "The Warden Commander of Ferelden – the Hero of Ferelden, Lyna Mahariel", she said and hoped that the name would invoke some sort of trust in him. Instead, he grew even paler if possible.

Aífe hastily moved back into the other room, speaking before she had even fully entered. "Quickly, I think his condition is worsening!" Anders still stood bent over Nelaros, his eyes closed in deep concentration. Eynla, who had let her hands hover over the elf's face, withdrew them and quickly moved past Aífe into the other room. "I will look after him", she said and rolled up her sleeves. Aífe was left standing halfway between the two patients, feeling utterly helpless.

"_Lady Aífe…"_, _he says and puts the noose around her neck, "I'm sorry."_

"How can I help? Do you need hot water? Anything?", she asked loudly, but got no answer from either of the healers. The light emanating from their hands cast the whole house into an eerie blue light and despite the sweat that had formed on her brow and the scorching hot amulet on her skin, Aífe shivered. She stood for a moment, taking a deep breath, and buried her face in her hands, pressing the heel of her hands against her eyes.

"What about the poison?", she asked and stepped close to Anders. Nelaros had fallen unconscious and was pale as a ghost, lying in his bed of bloody linen. The bleeding stopped under Anders' hands and the flesh started to knit, but far too slow.

"It makes healing complicated", the healer finally answered. "I have to keep it at bay and heal the damage at the same time. The blood loss makes it even worse. The heart is racing, the whole body is overheated. Much longer with that poison in his blood and internal bleedings are possible." Anders still had his eyes closed and moved his hands unseeing, as if to visualize the wound. "I'm not sure… at this rate…" He stopped talking and pressed his lips together, the blue light brightened and Aífe averted her eyes.

"If we had the antidote… what then?", she asked and he opened his eyes to look at her. "It would help", he said, "It would increase the chance." Aífe nodded and wiped the sweat off her brow, turning to look at Grimm. His dark eyes rested on her and he sat there unmoving. She took a deep breath and took the dagger from the table, moving towards the corner where the bound assassin was lying. The woman moved back against the wall, eyes wide open as she tried to get away from her. "Stay away! I will not tell you a thing", the woman barked in panic. There was no escape.

With one fluid motion Aífe plunged the blade deep into the woman's thigh and moved back a few steps, the pained scream of the assassin ringing in her ears. She could feel Anders' eyes on her and see Eynla out of the periphery of her eyes, eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing?!", Anders demanded to know.

Aífe did not turn around to him, instead she crouched down to be on eye-level with the woman, whose breathing had grown ragged. There was fear in her eyes. "Nobody uses poison without antidote nearby. The way I see it, you have two options", Aífe said very quietly. She raised her hand and lifted her index finger. "One: You tell me where it is or how to make it. I will give you some of it and let you go. I will not follow you. You can pretend you died with the others and flee from whomever sent you – you are free to do whatever you want." There were tears in the assassin's eyes, but Aífe simply held up her hand, lifting a second finger. "Two: You refuse out of some sort of loyalty, spite or pure stupidity. You will die of the poison and your wounds. I will not even let them heal a splinter in your finger and no matter how loud you scream, nobody will come to save you. If you are afraid of whoever sent you, you should keep one thing in your head. Right now, they are not here. I am."

She let her hand sink and gripped the hilt of the dagger, ripping it clear with force. The woman screamed again, pressing her face against the cool wall. "Are we clear?", she asked very quietly and could feel the healers' eyes on her.

The woman nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the dagger. "Yes", she said hoarsely.

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**Author's Comment:**  
>Alright, this update took a while and I apologize for the delay. I had quite a hard fight with this chapter and there are about 3 different versions of this, before this one finally seemed to work for me. I realize that there is a LOT OF TENSION in this one. I almost had Aífe break out into the song "How We Operate" from Gomez... Caaaaalm down. Geeeet straight. But, yes, obviously, that would have been slightly weird, so I didn't. But I was listening to it. They all have reasons for their paranoia - being hunted by the one or other fraction does this to you. And poor Alistair doesn't get a break lately...<br>I hope that I was able to avoid too much confusion - the flashbacks are all from quite vital turning points for Aífe and the ones from the Origin you will be able to guess, I think, the others are from her past during the Rebellion/Civil War. As for Grimm... I just think that animals have a bit of a better sense when it comes to spirits and such and in my head the reason why animals avoid Anders in DA2 is, in fact, Justice himself... they simply do not like spirits/demons, as they are not natural to our world.  
>As for the cameos I promised - I hope Anders is in character and that you like my version of him. :) I always imagine him as a very gentle healer and person, who would take upon himself great danger to help people if he can. Eynla is an original character by my lovely beta-reader, <strong>Emma<strong>! Many thanks for reading through my chapter and discussing it with me, to the point of answering all my questions twice and three times, when I couldn't get over my fear of boring people. I hope I portrayed your Eynla as she deserves to be =) And do not forget to write on your own fic, so Eynla gets bigger screentime! :o I will not say too much about her, but I had alter her connection to the Wardens a bit to make it fit to my A/U - she is not the Warden Commander, but an Amell that was recruited after the Blight by the Warden Commander herself, right out of prison!

Anyhow, I will stop my rant here, but not without thanking you all! Thanks so much for the reviews, the follows and favourite-ings! :) It is absolutely awesome to have people actually like this and read it and I squee like an idiot whenever I get any notification X'3 So thank you, **Graymalkyn, BlondMoments, KatDancer2, alyssaCousland, artilyon-rand and EkoCentric!** And all others, who read and enjoy. =) I hope the next chapter will be up sooner, featuring Alistair and soom answers about what actually happened to him during the Blight.


	14. Heartbeat

**Chapter 14: Heartbeat**

Alistair tried to ignore the hum in his blood and his fast beating heart, hammering against his chest in a wild rhythm. _Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump_. The sound was deafening, the constant droning all but paralysing him.

He could feel their very moves, even just the tiniest steps. Their presence was assaulting his senses and he could not shut it out, could not fight it. He pressed his eyes closed, fingers buried into the bed mattress. _Thu-thump. _A quiet screeching in his ears, gnawing away on his nerves. _Thu-thump. _A connection that he could not severe, could not reject, could not deny. _Thu-thump_. His breath caught in his chest and every fibre of his body reacted when the mage entered the room, his eyes flying open.

Eynla remained in the door frame for a moment, her honey-coloured eyes fixed on him with curiosity, then she walked closer. Anders stood just outside right beside Nelaros' bed, not more than a few meters away. He could feel the song in their blood, almost as loudly as his own. How had he been able to stand it back then? How had he been capable of moving, of breathing?

Memories he had taken and carefully put away rose, faint images in his mind. Pretty eyes, like emeralds - vibrant and full of life. _Thu-thump_. He had taken the memories, the pictures, the feelings, and had buried them deep. Had drowned them night for night.

Eynla moved closer and every step felt like an assault, waves breaking against a wall he had built carefully and tenderly and held together with nothing more than blood and tears and will. He could feel the hairline cracks forming. _Thu-thump_.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers and felt himself tense, fighting the urge to sit up again and face her in a less vulnerable position. Her movements were quick and before he could so much as steel himself she was at his side, her hands hovering over his chest. Her skin was pale and her fingers long. Petit and feminine. And the song in her blood. _Thu-thump._

He knew a woman once with hands like that. Small, deceivingly fragile looking. A single touch and he would forget the world. Soft, warm hands on his skin, in his hair. He did not remember, could not afford to. Take the memories and stash them away, bury them deep. _Thu-thump._

Only now he realized that Eynla had been talking to him, her eyes focused on the wound that was visible through the ripped tunic he was still wearing.

"This might sting a bit", she said, "The wound is deep and I'll try to stop the bleeding. I am sorry, my fingers might be cold." Without further ado she put her hands on his chest, slipping them underneath the tunic and he could feel the magic seep into his body. _Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

Maybe it was the magic or the taint or perhaps even the poison, but his reaction was violent. He could not breathe, could not move. He wanted to get up and away from her, to put distance between them. The world was spinning around him and the flickering candles were painting shadowy picture on the walls.

Remember the beautiful woman, hair of auburn flames and eyes green like emeralds? _No, I don't. I don't. Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

Remember her grace, her power, her will of iron? The way she would stand tall and proud and oh so beautiful, a warrior goddess with her bow at hand and wind in her hair? _No, never, no more. Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

Remember how she looked at you in that hall in front of all those people, how she looked at you like you were the traitor, the unworthy, the damned? _No. No._ _Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

Remember how her eyes grew cold and her expression turned icy, her hand outstretched towards the murderer, the one person you hate more than anything in the world? How she told you to stand down? Stand down, she said, last chance. _I don't remember. I don't remember a thing. Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

There was a pained scream outside, but it barely registered with him. All he could focus on was the hairline cracks in the carefully built wall, fanning out and eating away at the mortar that held it together.

Hands on his chest and the magic flowed, seeping through him. The song grew stronger and with it pictures he had taken, plucked apart, burned down to nothing but smouldering dust, they rose like a phoenix from its ashes. _Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

_The guards are no more than a step behind him, their hands on his shoulders. He is trembling with rage, his eyes focused on nobody but her. "Last chance", she says and the words are ice. "Stand down and fall in line." _

_There is no need to look around, he knows. Anora is smiling and the world is watching. It is not like he doesn't know. He just doesn't care. "We don't need him, Lyna", he says and his voice is shaking. "He deserves to die after all he did. We don't need him."_

_Somehow, he knows it is those words that end it all. There is no we. Perhaps there never was. She steps closer, her voice dangerously low. "What I don't need is you defying me now." He does not stand down, truly could not even if he wanted to. He has so often, but not now. _

_"We don't need him", he repeats without looking away._

_He can see the moment she wavers, can tell the very second she decides. She had always known how to hit the weak spot. "I don't need you", she said and the arrow went deep._

Spinning. Everything was spinning. Alistair pressed his eyes closed again in a vain attempt to shut out the pictures, but everything he had so carefully locked away returned at once. His mouth was dry and his mind bleary. Voices from the other room floated to his ears, words incomprehensible. _Thu-thump_.

Drown the memories, burn them down, shut them out. A glass of whiskey. A bottle of beer. Just a few shots of rum. That would help, would give him the chance to return to blissful ignorance and that state just before unconsciousness. _Thu-thump_.

Eynla was speaking to him, but he could not hear her over the droning in his head and the hammering of his heart. Her hands on his chest were holding him down and his strength bled away, her magic pulsing along his skin. Control was seeping from him and he gasped. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_.

His eyes flew open and he fought for air. "Stop it", he uttered choked and blindly reached for the mage's hand.

Instead, his fingers hit something solid and when he turned his head to look, he could make out Aífe standing right next to him. She had forced the mage to take a step further away from his head and now stood bent forward, blocking his view of Eynla. Aífe put a hand on his brow, her piercing grey eyes searching his. Her fingers felt cold against his skin and he took a deep breath. _Thu-thump_.

"Alistair", she said and sounded calm and relaxed. "I can get the antidote, I know the poison. It will be fine, I promise." She stood bent over him, expression stern and serene.

"I'm.. I don't-", he started to speak, but stopped, unsure what he actually wanted to say. He lifted his arm again and then suddenly her hand was in his, squeezing his fingers tightly.

"Listen to me. Breathe", she said and lifted her hand from his brow. The sudden lack of contact left him strangely forlorn, but within a moment he could feel her touch at his temple. "All will be well. The poison will make you disoriented and delirious. I know you want to get away, I know it is scary, but it will be better soon. Keep your eyes on me. It will be fine."

In the midst of all the chaos, she was a source of serenity. As long as he focused on her, the droning in his ears lessened and the song in his blood quieted. The shadows receded to the edges of his vision, driven back but not yet completely gone - but it was good enough. She was a barrier between him and them and that alone gave him enough room to manoeuvre, to steel himself and quiet down. He forced himself to breathe and keep his eyes on her, ignoring everything else for the moment. _Thu-thump_.

"You okay?", Aífe asked after a while and he nodded. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed hard, his heart was still hammering away. He was fine. He was okay.

"Yes", he replied hoarsely and she squeezed his hand again, finally daring to avert her eyes and look at Eynla, who had been working in silence. The mage seemed displeased if the small frown and the stiff shoulders were any indication. The magic flowed from her fingers, cool and glowing, but somehow Alistair managed to concentrate on his breathing and not the low hum in their blood. Breathe in, breathe out. _Thu-thump_.

"You need the antidote", Aífe said and it did not sound like a question. Eynla nodded curtly, opening her eyes to look at the woman standing next to her. There were droplets of sweat forming on the mage's brow, but she simply wiped them off quickly.

"It would help. I could concentrate on the damage done by the blade rather than the poison and help Anders with your other friend in a while", Eynla replied and suddenly she narrowed her eyes. She seemed suspicious and made no attempt to hide it. "So you will leave now."

"I have to", Aífe answered pressed. "The woman outside has but one vial - enough for one person, no more. To make the antidote takes too long and I would need ingredients - but the other assassins used the same poison. They will have the same antidote. I just need to get to their bodies and get the flasks, it will not take longer than a few minutes."

"It would also take only a few minutes to get the Templars here to let your trap snap shut", Eynla said and slightly turned to face Aífe, lifting one hand from Alistair's chest. The tension in the air was palpable and Alistair struggled to move his arm to push himself up.

"I know you do not trust me. I know Anders does not trust me, he just voiced the same doubt. In fact, he told me that the moment he stops treating Nelaros is the moment that he might die", Aífe replied and stood very still. He could feel her fingers twitch in his hand as if she struggled to control herself. "I understand your concern. I would have the same one. I do not want to leave myself, I am afraid that more assassins will come. I am afraid that you will decide this is too much trouble and leave instead. I am afraid that I have to trust two people I do not know."

Eynla's magic ceased as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, now fully concentrating on Aífe. She was about to say something, when the rogue lifted her hand to indicate that she was not done talking yet.

"However, I am scared shitless that I will lose my friend. I will not let that happen. So I will tell you what I told Anders but a moment ago: This house has but one exit and entrance - the door through which we came. Whoever enters can be taken care of one by one. The oiled skins on that table contain a collection of the finest blades you have ever seen. The bag below it contains bombs of different variety. They are at your disposal. I will even let you stab me with that poisoned dagger before I leave, if that will assure you. But I need to get that antidote", Aífe spoke and squeezed his hand tightly.

He felt his chest tighten and lifted himself up to his elbow, trying to get up, but the pain that lanced through his chest let him sink back onto the bed. The movement, however, seemed to rip the women from their discussion.

Eynla immediately placed her hands back on his chest and sent a new wave of healing magic into his body, her eyes on his wound. She was quiet for a moment and then, without turning to look at Aífe, said: "Anders is under my protection. The protection of the Grey Wardens. If you move against him, you move against me."

Aífe did not reply and instead turned to Alistair again, her expression carefully blank. "I am sorry, Alistair. I will need to leave quickly. Will you be alright?", she asked.

_No_, he thought.

"Yes", he said. She let go of his hand with some hesitation and offered him a weak smile. "Just try to be quick", he added and his own voice sounded weird to him.

She nodded and remained for another heartbeat, as if she was about to say something - but then she was gone, uttering some murmured words he could not understand. The very next moment he could feel fur under his fingers and saw Grimm's head bobbing up where Aífe had stood. The hound rested his chin on the edge of the bed and pushed against his hand. He curled his fingers into the thick fur reflexively. _Thu-thump_.

Eynla was silent as she worked, her eyes closed and her fingers on his skin. They felt hot - or perhaps it was the magic or the taint. Alistair closed his eyes as well, focusing on the feel of the smooth fur beneath his hand, on his own heart-beat, slowly growing steadier. _Thu-thump_.

"You are a Grey Warden of Ferelden", he said finally, when he felt in control. The shadows were closing in again, tearing at him, and he opened his eyes, jaw squared as he looked at her. She was pretty with her white-silver hair and full lips and he wondered how long she had been in the order. His eyes were focusing on the chain of a necklace he could see. He knew the material and the form and with absolute certainty he knew that it held a little flask with blood from her Joining.

She took her time to reply, but when she did, she did not even open her eyes. "Of course", she quietly replied and he gritted his teeth. She remained so calm when he had barely been able to fight the urge to flee. _Thu-thump_.

The throbbing in his chest grew worse and he suppressed a pained groan. Grimm shifted under his hand, moving closer and nudging him in the side. It pulled his attention from the pain and he was thankful, but his mind still only held one single thought.

"She sent you", Alistair said and it was no question. He had no doubt. The way they had parted... her word had kept him alive, but he had guessed it was a matter of time. _Stand down_, she had said, and it had been a command, _fall in line_. The look in her eyes... She would never forgive him. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_.

"Who?", Eynla asked and seemed distracted. She cracked one eye open to look at him briefly, but otherwise did not react. "The Warden-Commander? Yes." She clicked her tongue at his reaction, annoyance clear in her voice - she pressed down on his chest as he tried to rise and he gritted his teeth to keep the pain at bay. "Would you stop that? I know it stings, but the poison has already affected your blood. Were you not a Warden, you would be a mess. The only thing keeping the poison at bay is the taint." He moved just a fraction, rolled his shoulder back to escape the awkward sensation and she cursed. "I will paralyse you if you keep doing this, I swear!", she snapped. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_.

Before he could react, there was a quiet growl from Grimm, who took a step forward and thereby effectively forced Eynla to move a step away. The protective gesture loosened a quiet, disbelieving chuckle from Alistair's chest. Both mage and Mabari turned to look at him quizzically and he found it hard to not let a second one follow.

"Great, now the dog too...", Eynla mumbled and lifted her hands off her patient. She was not exactly angry, but clearly exasperated. To Alistair it looked like she considered switching for the easier patient in the other room, who would not talk quite as much and also had one protector less.

"I'm no longer a Grey Warden", he managed to say, fighting back the madness step by step. It was probably immaterial, but he wanted to say it, had to say it. He needed to hear it himself.

The look she gave him was odd. "What, you too? And here I had been told there was no quitting - at least not alive. And yet Anders gets to go... you get to go. Seems somewhat unfair", she said dryly. Alistair's brows knitted together in confusion - she had said it like she had really been surprised. As he was watching her, he saw understanding dawn on her, her lips forming a perfect little o as she looked him over again.

"Don't tell me you are _the_ Alistair?", she asked and leaned closer, careful to still keep enough distance to not alarm Grimm, who held his position as ever-watchful guardian. By now Alistair had little doubt Aífe's parting words had been addressed to the Mabari. "I'd imagined you... different", she said and cocked her head to the side as she studied him like an interesting new spell. He resisted the urge to scoot a bit further away from her.

"You didn't know?", he asked dubiously and felt somewhat stupid. Perhaps she really had not known who he was. Perhaps it was a coincident and his paranoia had played it up. He had already thought Aífe had been sent after him - and whatever that woman was, she surely was not out to get him. At least not on purpose. He looked over his shoulder towards the other room, where he could clearly feel Anders's presence. Anders had not moved in the last minutes, still concentrated on his task. He had also left the Grey Wardens? Alistair had not known until now. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the oddly drowsy state he started to slip into. His vision blurred in front of his eyes.

"Let me get this straight", Eynla said and ripped him from his thoughts. "You are the infamous companion of Warden-Commander Mahariel, the bastard prince Alistair?"

He winced at her words and averted his eyes, instead looking at the flickering candle on the far table. Nausea rose in him and he fought it back down, focusing on his heart-beat. _Thu-thump. _Slow and steady.

No song in his blood. No hum in his ears. No memories in his mind.

"I'm just Alistair", he said finally and closed his eyes.

"The Warden-Commander did not send me after you", Eynla said after a while. "She never speaks of you. If it is any help, I don't think she knows you are in Kirkwall and if she did, she never mentioned it. I am just here to get information about a Deep Roads expedition from Anders, nothing more."

He could hear her move around Grimm, who shifted his weight and let her come close again, but kept his position between them. Then and again the Mabari would turn his head and listen as if to make sure that Nelaros was fine or perhaps to hear whether his mistress was returning. Alistair felt the subtle movements under his fingers and let his hand rest on the hound's shoulders.

His wound stung when Eynla finally put her hands on his chest again and summoned her healing magic again, working quietly. He could feel her gaze on him and kept his eyes shut and his lips pressed together. Slow and steady. _Thu-thump_.

"I will not mention meeting you here, if you prefer that", she said after a long pause and he nodded quietly.

The shadows were closing in and he could feel his hand shaking. A drop of wine. A glass of whiskey. A bottle of beer. He felt thirsty. Grimm whined and nudged him and Alistair opened his eyes, looking at the hound. For all appearances the dog was offering him the best version of a doggy grin and Alistair managed a shaky smile. "That would be kind", he murmured. "How do you know about me?"

Eynla laughed and he could see her move her hands out of the corners of his eyes, but he did not turn his head. "Are you kidding me? Who doesn't know you? The fabled bastard prince, exiled from his lost kingdom – in the nicest version of the tales. In others you are the evil traitor that left at the dawn of battle, never to be seen again. It fully depends who you are listening to."

He should have been prepared for it, but it still hit him hard. Evil traitor, they called him, or bastard prince. Again with the fancy titles. It felt like the chains clicked closed around his wrists, a weight added that would pull him down the moment he tried to take a step. He licked his dry lips and took another deep breath. _Thu-thump_.

"Sorry", she murmured and tried to smile, "It's just stories."

"I am not one", he finally managed to say. The sounds grew fainter and he was thankful. The droning in his ears lessened and the hum of his blood had quieted. He lifted his eyes to look at the ceiling and found that he could barely fight the drowsiness anymore.

"'m just me", he said and his eyes fell shut, his heart-beat a quiet lullaby. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_. _Thu-thump_.

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**Author's Comment:**  
>*sits in her corner and looks out from under her blanket* So, the thing is... I had several aims with this. First, it was supposed to be different from Aífe's memories and flashbacks. Secondly, I wanted to show a bit more of why he is where he is and clear some questions. Thirdly, I wanted to do that and maintain logic and without boring you. So, all in all... I am not sure how well I succeeded with those goals. However, since the chapter is about as good as I'll manage to get it.. I decided to upload it. X'D Here goes a huge thanks to <strong>Emma aka Eynla<strong>, who let me play with Eynla and who beta-ed this and discussed it with me. Thanks. :)  
>A big thanks also to those that reviewed my story, <strong>EkoCentric, alyssacousland, BlondMoments, Graymalkyn, Darkly Tranquil, KatDancer2 and Merilsell.<strong> :) Thank you very, very much! Also all those who favoured this or put me on alert, it is very much appreciated!  
>(And as a sidenote: The first chapters will be overworked, just to catch some mistakes I didn't see at first, and also to put it into a nicer and more easily-readable form. I hope I'll get it done this week. =) )<br>Next, I hope the subtle hints I dropped here and there were nicely flowing and left the right impression (... okay. Maybe they were NOT all that subtle. *coughs*)  
>I will leave this here now and hope that you like it and that it turned out alright. :D Aaaaand I will drop the promise of half-nekkid Alistair and some honey on his skin for the next chapter. Literally.<p> 


	15. Bonnets and Honey

**Chapter 15: Bonnets and Honey**

"I have done all I can for him at the moment", Anders said. He looked weary, dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess. Sometime in between he had pulled it into a ponytail, but strands had slipped out and were framing his face. When he distractedly lifted his hand and buried it in his hair, all pretence of hairstyle was gone.

Aífe nodded slowly, looking at the two mages who had sat beside Nelaros for the better part of the night. Eynla looked only marginally better than Anders at this point, strands of her strangely silver hair glued to her sweaty skin. Aífe did not want to ponder how bad Nelaros' wounds had been if two healers looked this exhausted after healing him.

She pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning against for while now, unable to take her eyes off her friend. The adrenaline had long since faded and she felt her elbow throb with pain - the result of landing with an awkwardly outstretched arm at some point. What was far worse, though, was that she had had time to think. The stone of dread that had settled in her gut had grown heavier with every thought.

"How is he?", she asked, controlling the shaking of her voice. Somehow she felt reluctant to break the quiet that had reigned in the last hours. Felt even more reluctant to let them go. There was nothing she could do on her own to help Nelaros.

"He will live", Anders said and cast her a speculative glance. She did not like the way he looked her over, even though it might only have been the glance of a healer assessing a possible patient. His eyes landed on her brow, where he had healed the deep cut and he nodded absentmindedly, gripping his staff tightly.

"The antidote you brought stopped the poison and we repaired the damage it had already done. The wound we closed from within and sealed it completely. It will still hurt, but there is no chance of wound fever. However...", Anders said and locked eyes with her. He made a gesture that indicated the elf and the many pieces of cloth and linen, soaked through with his blood. Aífe bit her lips at the sight.

"He lost a lot of blood. His recovery will not be immediate, not even with our healing magic. Make sure he drinks lots of water and eats properly, even if he has no appetite." Anders leaned on his staff heavily and then, slowly, turned towards the door. Eynla followed him, but did not yet avert her eyes from Aífe.

"Make sure to wash Alistair's wound once he has woken up again - clean boiled water, not water from the city well", Eynla instructed and Aífe nodded once again, biting down hard on her lower lip. The Warden's eyes were sharp on the young noble, speculating and when she reached for the door handle, there was clear hesitation in the movement.

"There is nobody outside, if you still think this is an elaborate trap", Aífe said quietly. Her voice was hoarse. "I am in your debt, immensely so. I owe you a life and I do not take my debts lightly. Thank you, Wardens. I will compensate you. If you would like me to, I will hand you my weapons and step out in front of you."

At her words, Anders turned to look at her again and for the first time, something very close to a smile played around his lips.

"I'm not a Warden anymore, no need to be so formal", he said and Aífe felt herself relax a little. "I'm a healer and I am glad I could help. I will come to look after your friends in some days to make sure the healing progresses as it should. They will sleep for quite a while. Meanwhile... you also need to rest. We will talk more when I return. Farewell."

He shot Eynla a glance Aífe could not interpret and then opened the door himself, stepping outside almost as if facing a challenge. When nothing happened, he lowered his staff slightly and vanished into the shadows that were slowly driven away by the rising sun.

"We will see you soon", Eynla said and put emphasis on the 'we'. Not that Aífe would have thought for a moment that Anders would return alone.

The female mage hesitated for a moment, her eyes fixed on Aífe. "Anders is right, the worst is over now. Rest, lady Cousland." Then Eynla mage followed her friend and closed the door behind herself.

Aífe locked it, the sound of the bolt clicking shut almost eerie in the silence they had left behind. She took a deep breath, shaky and long. As she turned, her eyes fell on Nelaros' still form, his blond hair pasted to his brow with sweat and dried blood.

The pool of blood beneath his bed was slowly drying, leaving a metallic taste in the air that felt acidic and bitter in her nose. Aífe stepped closer, her feet dragging through the puddle on the floor. His skin felt cold under her fingers and he did not move, his features deadly still and serene.

She swallowed, felt her knees buckle. Her hands gripped the bed tightly as she gave up the fight and let herself drop down, landing hard. Eyes burning and bitter gall in the back of her mouth she leaned forward, placed her head on the bed almost as if in silent prayer. Maybe it was a sort of prayer. She did not know.

Six children saved. Eleven still lost. Alistair wounded and poisoned. Nelaros almost dead. She had almost gotten them all killed.

Hot tears bubbled forth, dripping down her cheeks as her body started to tremble. She closed her eyes, suffocating the sobs that shook her body and dug her nails into the mattress. Her chest ached and the metallic taste in her mouth made her gasp for air. All too familiar. Too much blood and death. The pictures and words burned into her memory.

_The gate will not hold. _

Grimm was at her side within a moment, a big paw on her thigh, his head pushing against her arm. He wiggled in close, almost crawled onto her lap, licking her neck and her face. His body was warm against hers and she curled her arms around him, burying her face in his fur.

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A quiet rustle ripped Aífe from her doze and she was on her feet within a moment, the dagger-blade gleaming in the dying candle-light. Her heart was in her throat as she looked around, eyes wide open. Grimm, who had been curled up beside her with his head on her lap, was also on his feet and bounded towards the front door with a snarl and bunched muscles.

It took Aífe far too long to realize that she had not heard anybody trying to force the door open and that everything was alright. She wavered for a moment and lifted her free hand to her head, trying to keep her balance as her vision darkened momentarily. The sling around her arm tightened, cutting into her skin lightly.

When she had shaken off the weakness that had crept up her legs, her memory returned. She had bound a string of yarn around her arm and the other end around the door handle leading outside – in case she fell asleep too deeply, any movement of the door whatsoever would wake her.

Grimm was listening at the front door, pushed into alertness by her own reaction, but after a moment returned to her side. He yawned heartily and looked at her with drooping eyes, obviously no less tired than she was. She put her hand on his head, taking the tip of one ear between her fingers and rubbing it gently and he leaned against her with a content hum. "Lie down, sleep", she said, but he simply pressed himself against her with more.

Her gaze was drawn to Alistair's form on the bed close-by. His arm was hanging over the edge and even though his eyes were still closed, she was sure he was waking up. A quick glance at the candle clock showed her that she had dozed longer than she had thought and she rubbed a hand over her face. With some embarrassment she realized that the half-sitting sleeping position she had taken up to be able to look directly at the door and still keep the two beds in sight had not only resulted in a crick in her neck - she had apparently also drooled. Great. Quickly she wiped her arm over her mouth, thankful that nobody had seen it.

Alistair stirred and she thought she heard the faint whisper of a moan. She quickly undid the knot that held the string around her arm to walk towards the bed. Grimm uttered a protesting huff and got up again, looking at her expectantly.

"Sleep, Grimm. All is well." Finally the hound moved to where she had just sat and curled up, resting his head on his paws.

Quickly she slipped into the other room and washed her face and her hands, relishing the cool refreshment. Well, at least she was fully awake now. She stretched heartily and with a look at Nelaros, who was still asleep, she returned to the other room and lit a few more candles.

By the time Aífe reached the bed, Alistair had opened his eyes. He seemed disoriented, his whiskey-coloured eyes searching and still full of sleep. When they landed on her the gears in his head seemed to take a while to work it all out, so she busied herself with filling a mug with the tea she had made a while ago. When he failed to say anything and just looked at her as if trying to put his memories together, she weakly waved a few fingers at him. "Hey."

A smile twitched over his lips and he carefully lifted his arm to rub over his eyes, stretching himself with a groan. His toes were sticking out from under the too short blanket and she worried her lip, subtly edging her way towards his legs and pulling the blanket a bit lower. However, that only served to expose more of his naked chest. He was too damn tall for her blanket.

Apparently the movement of the blanket had brought attention to a little fact she would have liked to hide from him a tiny bit longer. He went rigid and cast her a worried glance.

"Am I naked?" Alistair let his arm sink onto the mattress again. Carefully tugging the blanket into place over his toes, she shrugged noncommittally. Denying it would probably not work. It was fairly obvious. Probably even more so to her than to him.

"A bit", she admitted and hastily raised her hand to interrupt him when his eyes went round with shock. He looked at her like he was torn between flight and a girly shriek of dismay. She bit down hard on her lips to contain the chuckle. Considering that there was still crusted blood on his chest and that the wound was not yet fully healed, she thought it best to remain serious.

"I swear you still have your pants and I did not touch you inappropriately." Aífe nodded solemnly. Propriety was such a vague word anyhow. Plus, his pants perhaps were not counting as much. They were not much more than tight linen breeches, barely enough to provide a protection against the chaffing caused by his chainmail armour. She had in all actuality prayed quite fervently for him to not wake up as she stripped him of his leg armour. The situation would have been too awkward to avert with a simple 'Hey, how are you doing?', no matter how charming the accompanying smile.

There was a rather long pause, before he answered and when he did, he sounded somewhat suffocated. "Thanks. I guess." He looked so obviously ill at ease that she could not help but titter quietly, making him look at her with thinly veiled scepticism. "Glad to see that my discomfort brings you joy."

"I am sorry", she said, not quite suppressing the grin that lifted the corners of her mouth. "I removed your chainmail armour and cut away the bits of tunic left on you, so it would not cling to your wound and dry on there", she explained.

Alistair still did not look entirely comfortable with the situation, but at least he seemed less likely to shout bloody rape and flee into the streets of Kirkwall. Aífe already considered that a small triumph. He tried to sit up and managed so with a groan, his hand flying to the wound on the right side of his chest. Aífe's fingers twitched as she shifted her weight, unsure whether she should assist him.

"Thanks", he repeated and she winced at his pained expression. However, within a moment it had left his face again and he lifted his hand, looking at the still open wound curiously.

Having noticed how rough his voice sounded, she remembered the mug of tea she was holding and offered it to him. He took it with a nod and drained it with a few gulps.

The number of grimaces he cut immediately after was quite astounding. She could see pure disgust, a moment of nausea, in between the desperate try for a blank face and right after that disgust again. Mixed with a small gagging reflex he quickly suppressed.

"Uhm... you might have wanted to drink that slowly. It is disgusting", Aífe said when he turned to look at her. And put on her best charming smile when sent her a testy look from under lowered eyelids.

"Thanks", Alistair repeated and did entirely not mean it this time. He handed the mug back to her with a shudder and she took it and quickly put it away.

"On the positive side, it is very good against fever, pain and headaches." Apparently that did not make up for the absolute feeling of _eeew_ he had just gone through, judging from his look. In a last-ditch effort she raised her arms in fake enthusiasm. "Yay!"

"I feel like I need to scrub my tongue", Alistair said dryly, not joining in and instead started to look around. "The mages are gone?" There was something like relief in his voice, but she was not quite sure she had heard it right.

"Yes, they left some time ago, actually", she explained. When she saw his surprised expression, she pointed over her shoulder towards the candle that had burned low. "You slept a day or perhaps a bit more." The complete lack of windows made it difficult to keep track of time, even if she was thankful of it now. Fewer entry points.

"So long?", he asked and shook his head. A thought seemed to strike him then, for he set up straight and cast an anxious glance over his shoulder towards the other room. "How is Nelaros? Is he alright?"

"He will heal, he just needs time." Aífe smiled at the concern in his voice, taking a step back to be able to look at Nelaros in the other room, but as expected he had not moved at all. She returned her attention to Alistair, who was prodding his wound, and scowled at him, fighting the urge to swat at his hand.

"What do you think you are doing?", she demanded to know and he looked at her with guilt written all over his face. "Do you want to irritate the wound? It is still raw and open, the healing was not yet completed. You poking it will certainly not make it heal any faster." Which was stating the obvious, but at least she had distracted him for the moment.

"It itches", he murmured and finally let his hand sink, probably only because she kept staring at it. Good thing, too. The next step would have been physical intervention. "The wound didn't seem so bad to me, was it difficult to heal?", he asked.

Aífe shook her head. "It was worse than I had expected, but not overly difficult to heal. From what I understood, Eynla thought it better to leave the body time to work and excrete everything that is not supposed to be in the wound and only seal it up at a later time point. She conserved her energy to help Anders and they left when Nelaros was stabilized and they had exhausted themselves." She was pretty sure they had been expecting an attack on them any moment and was equally sure they had not completely drained themselves during the healing, but she was thankful all the same.

"Oh." Alistair seemed rather surprised and raised his eyebrows at that revelation. "I see." Somehow, he seemed to be lost in thought and Aífe grabbed a chair and drew it up next to the bed. That ripped him from his thoughts and he looked at her.

"You do not like mages, I guess", she observed and settled down. He had been in blind panic when Eynla had entered the room to heal him. Aífe had assumed it were the effects of the poison back then – racing heart, widened pupils, erratic breathing. However, somehow his focus had been on the mage all the while. Once she had cut off his view of Eynla, he had managed to calm down. Plus, he had mentioned that he had undergone Templar training - so a habitual wariness of mages might have made matters worse. It would explain why his reaction to the mage had been quite so severe.

"I am sorry, there was no other way to help you." Had she been able to avoid bringing more people into this, she would have done so gladly.

"That is not it", he said rather quickly and fidgeted, fingers curled into the blanket. "I don't dislike mages, really. I just..." He trailed off and weakly motioned with one hand, desperately searching for words. After a moment he shrugged his shoulders weakly. "It's a long story, not really important."

"Do not worry, no need to speak of it", Aífe said and smiled, getting up again. "I had simply assumed you were not very fond of mages operating without supervision. Even if they are Wardens. You did say you were trained as a Templar, no?" She knew the feeling well enough - some memories better rested somewhere deep within and were not woken when it could be avoided. There were stories she was not ready to speak of, either.

Their eyes met and just when she thought he would say something, his gaze intensified and a frown creased his brow. The blanket slipped down to his waist when he inched forward, wincing slightly, but not taking his eyes off of her.

"Are you alright?", he asked quietly and she barely stopped herself from raising a hand to her eyes. They still felt swollen and hot, but she had not thought it was so obvious. The smile she plastered on her face was an almost automatic response, a motion of her hand waving the concerns away.

"I am the one who did not get poisoned, remember? Still a few hurting bruises here and there, but nothing bad", she said and quickly turned around to leave the room and step towards the fire. Her eyes wandered towards Nelaros.

His breathing was even and the sweat had dried. He seemed serene - and not quite as pale as he had hours before. She had removed the bloody linens and bandages and tried to get him out of the bloody armour, which had only been possible to a certain extent without the risk of waking him. Still, he seemed peaceful and she relaxed.

As she stood there unmoving for a moment, she could feel Alistair's eyes on her, heard the bed creak as he shifted. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Everything was alright.

Quickly she grabbed the bowl of cooled tea and some other things she had arranged on the table next to the fire and returned to him.

"Do you have a headache? Cramps?", she asked before he could say anything else and settled down on the chair again. As she put everything on the nightstand, strands of her completely loose bun fell into her face and she crinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Mostly alright", Alistair answered. When she stared at him quite long enough, he rubbed his neck with one hand and shrugged with his healthy shoulder. "A bit of a headache, perhaps a bit nauseous. Actually, that might be the result of that awful bit you gave me to drink. Tasted liked liquid tree."

"I see. Is the wound throbbing?", she inquired and started stirring the water in the bowl. She totally ignored any and all side blows aimed at her tea.

"Actually, not until you asked", Alistair answered and pressed his lips together, craning his neck to get a better look, fingers obviously itching to touch it again. Resisting the urge under her stare, he instead looked at the things she had brought and cocked an eyebrow at them.

"I should wash the wound to remove all dried blood and grime as best as possible. I did not want to wake you while you slept - and I thought it highly probably that I would actually give you a heart attack should you wake up just then", she explained.

"Uhm", he uttered and eyed her warily. "Thanks for... waiting?" It sounded more like a question than a statement and she almost laughed, but caught herself in time. Laughing would probably not be helping the situation. But he looked so very much like a deer facing a full-grown Mabari, that she had a hard time containing herself.

"I would offer to close my eyes so I don't see what shall not be see, but I am afraid it is too late for that. I have seen all there is to see above the blanket already last time and I promise I shall not peek underneath." For a moment she thought she had worsened the situation rather than improved it, but then he laughed. He pressed a hand to his chest close to the wound, as if to steady himself and keep himself from moving too much. "Plus", she added, "it might be advisable to actually look as I work, so I do not end up giving the wall a good wipe-down."

"Very encouraging, really. I guess my modesty is lost anyhow, then", Alistair answered when he finally had reduced his laughter to a few quiet chuckles. "You're sure you're qualified for this? Because, you know, that looks kinda red." He pointed vaguely at the bowl and raised his eyebrows. "Not that I want to doubt the skills of the woman at whose mercy I am."

Glad the atmosphere had become lighter, she leaned back and looked at the bowl, idly swivelling the tea within.

"Och, now", she said and tried very hard to look innocent. "I am perfectly harmless."

"_Ye-eah_." Alistair squinted at her. Alright, so innocent did not work on her. "I might have believed that if I had not seen you stab... I lost count of how many. Quite a few men, anyhow. Now, though, not so much", he said and she shrugged with a sigh.

"Pfft", she uttered, dismissing that argument completely. "Aside from that." She soaked a piece of clean cloth in the tea as she talked. "This is willow-bark tree with a few blossoms of kidney-vetch, see?", she asked and lifted the bowl to his face, so he could sniff it. He did so very reluctantly.

"Okay. So... red is good?", he inquired doubtfully.

"Kidney-vetch promotes wound healing, it helps to calm the skin. Willow-bark reduces the pain and prevents fever. Willow-bark is also what you drank. My Nan used to make it for me, whenever I got hurt", she explained and wrung out the cloth. "So yes, red is very good. I am living proof."

"Well, if Nan said so." He seemed still a bit doubtful, but she thought that was rather the circumstances than the colour of the tea, so she moved to sit on the edge of the bed and take a closer look at the wound. The edges of the cut still looked nasty, but were much smoother now than they had been before. The skin looked irritated, but not overly so and at the very least he did not look feverish.

"You sure I cannot do that myself?", he asked just as she was about to reach out, so she stopped herself and looked him over. The angle made it quite impossible for him to actually see the wound completely.

"You could", she said slowly, "But you would only give me a good show and not clean it properly anyhow. You cannot see it from the right angle."

And just like that a flush bloomed over his face and she fought the giggles bubbling up her chest very, very hard. She was aware that lack of sleep made her stupid. However, she had not been aware it made her say things without letting them pass through the filter between her brain and her mouth first. Seeing a tall, grown warrior this uncomfortable over a simple comment was just too entertaining – and at the moment, she was very easily entertained. Sometime before she fell asleep she had laughed a full five minutes at Grimm twitching and huffing in his sleep.

"You know", he drawled after a moment of silence, "I am pretty sure I should have somebody defend my honour. Some knight in shining armour perhaps."

"Oh, but I think they require you to wear a pretty dress, flail your arms and actually have some evil threat looming over you. Now, I could do the evil threat-thing, but I am afraid I cannot provide a pretty dress in your size. Hm. Maybe a flowery bonnet would help?" Aífe looked him over critically, having a hard time to remain serious.

"Aren't you a bit small to be an evil threat? I had assumed they were required to be... bigger", Alistair said thoughtfully, mirroring her look. "More importantly... You have a flowery bonnet? Is it pretty?"

"He-ey!" She tried her best to look upset at both suggestions, putting her hands on her hips. "I will have you know that I am a Chantry-authorized evil threat. In fact, I have had full-grown storms named after me! Size does not matter!"

"You keep telling yourself that", he answered with a chuckle, his eyes crinkling.

They realized the innuendo at the same time. He cleared his throat and looked over her shoulder at Grimm, the flush blooming anew. Aífe meanwhile busied herself by soaking the cloth again and wringing it out.

"Seriously, though, I think it would be best if you let me clean the wound. The only other option is Grimm and the fact that I have opposable thumbs clearly speaks for me", she said and waited for his nod before she moved closer and started to wash the wound carefully.

He winced when the cloth touched his skin, but showed no other sign of discomfort after. Of course, judging by the amount of the scars he carried, he had indeed seen worse and was used to pain. Not a pleasant thought.

She worked in silence, cleaning off the dried blood and soaking the wound in the tea for a bit. Alistair seemed to relax with time, his eyes closed in thought. She was almost done when he suddenly jerked upright and she barely managed to withdraw her hand to avoid smacking his chest.

"The assassin!", he exclaimed and Aífe scrambled to her feet, fingers reaching for the dagger in her boots. Only after a moment she realized that there was no threat and that there was, in fact, nobody behind her. Her heart was racing and had jumped into her throat. She let out a shaky breath and cast him a dirty look, sheathing the dagger again. The cloth soaked with tea had dropped from his chest to his lap.

"Ehehehe… I just... remembered the woman you had brought here and wondered what happened", Alistair said and looked at her sheepishly, an apologetic smile on his lips.

"Next time, please try not to give me a heart-attack while remembering things." She hunched her shoulders, exhaling audibly and quietly settled down on the chair again, picking up the cloth.

"Sorry. Good reflexes, though." His gaze had wandered to her boots and a quizzical frown creased his brow. "It's like you have daggers everywhere."

Funnily enough, she felt quite naked since she had slipped out of her armour. The tunic and breeches offered absolutely no protection and little room to store weapons. The dagger in her boot had been the only one accessible instantly. All the other daggers and blades were still where she had slept and some of them already packed away after cleaning.

"That is because I _do_ have daggers everywhere", she said finally and decided that the wound was clean enough for the moment. She put cloth and the bowl of tea away and instead took the small jar she had brought into her hands.

"I am not sure how much you still know of last night. I had gotten the woman to tell me of the antidote - and then had to go out to collect as many vials as I could. After I had tried it on her and saw that it worked, we gave it to you and Nelaros. While the mages were healing you, I tried to interrogate her further. She told me very little. I know she was from Antiva, I know that the poison was a quite complex one, nothing a layman can whip up. She was too scared to tell me much, but I have a suspicion. I will have to ask around to confirm it." She leaned back and saw that he was watching her intently.

"I blindfolded her and took her to the other side of the docks after walking around aimlessly for quite a bit, so she would not be able to remember where this house is. Then I left her. I guess by now she is long gone." Either long gone or dead, judging by how scared the woman had been of her own people. Aífe hoped it had not been an act and that the assassin had really disappeared - otherwise she would have been able to tell her friends far too much. She should probably have killed the woman, just to be sure, but… Well.

"What about the guards?", he asked and watched her prepare a few bandages, cutting the fabric into stripes so she could use it to properly dress his wound.

"Which guards? Oh, you mean those we left at the coast. To be honest, I had all but forgotten about them." She lowered her hands and shook her head. They had completely slipped her mind until he brought them up again. "My guess is that they have long escaped by now. No use telling anybody about them now."

"What if they are still there?", Alistair asked.

"Then they can rot and be feasted on by rats for all I care", she murmured and meant it. When she saw the look on his face, she sighed deeply and shrugged. "I will let the City Guard know that somebody might be there as soon as I manage to. But it has no priority. Stop looking at me like that." Quickly averting her eyes she avoided whatever look he might have shot her and instead coated the biggest bandage she had with the contents of the jar.

"I am almost done, I will bandage the wound and then we are done." She hoped a change of topic would distract him and indeed he was shifting in his bed, leaning over to look at the jar speculatively.

"What is that? You want to smear that on the wound?" He had lifted one eyebrow and tipped his head to the side as if that would enable him a better view of the jar. Or a better comprehension of her thoughts.

"It is honey", she answered and tried very hard to keep the honey on the bandages and not let it drip on her lap. He laughed at the statement, but when she did not join in, he stopped after a few moments.

"Wait, you are serious? You are going to smear honey on the wound?!" He looked incredulous and slightly alarmed.

"You have no trust in me whatsoever, do you? I know what I am doing!", Aífe groused and crinkled her nose, looking up from her work. "Honey keeps the wound clean and prevents wound fever. It is much better than most herbs and it is easy to come by on top of it."

"But… it's honey." To call him doubtful would have been an understatement. He looked at the bandage as if it was some sort of moldy bread that she was about to rub over the wound.

Pointedly she grabbed the collar of her tunic and pulled it down over her shoulder. Good that it was so huge, otherwise her little demonstration would not have worked as nicely. She traced a finger along her collarbone until she found the rather big and jagged scar that she followed with her finger from just above her armpit up to her shoulder and towards her back. By now it had faded a bit, but the white scar tissue was still clearly visible.

"See this? Treated with that tea and honey for several days and stitched up. It kept the wound clean until a mage could heal it. No wound fever", she said and tapped her finger against the scar.

He was clearly biting the inside of his cheek as he kept from saying something, looking from her scar to his chest. Admittedly, he sported several scars that looked even worse than hers. She could still not get over the fact that she could clearly see where something had bitten a piece out of his lower arm off. The indentation was visible. That was just wrong. Even so, that was not the worst of it. The claw-slashes running up over his shoulder towards his back. A nasty burn scar covering a part of his upper arm. Not even to speak of the long scar running over his lower torso.

His expression was way too smug when he lifted his eyes to hers again. She fought the childish urge to pull up the tunic and show him her scars in return. There was no way she was going to be this childish.

"So… honey helped with that wound, huh?", he asked almost conversationally.

Aífe cast him a regal look, carefully put the coated bandage on the nightstand and got up, lifting the tunic until she could see the edge of her breast band. Twirling so she could show him her back, she pointed at the scar showing where an arrow had punctured her skin just below her ribs. Turning a tiny bit more she pointed at a still clearly visible scar of a nasty stab wound had once forced her to her knees. There was an almost invisible matching scar on her belly, where the knife had excited again. Turning again, she stretched out her hand. The burn scars were barely visible at this point, but still showed that most of the back of her hand had been affected.

"Burn scar and arrow wound were treated this way and healed nicely. The stab wound, however, was not and almost started to fester. Do you get my point now?", she said. So she had continued the little pissing contest. Nothing immature about that. She was just trying to make a point.

He had the gall to laugh, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her hand that she had spread out practically under his nose. With a small groan he pushed himself to sit upright again, leaning forward to reveal his back, which only served to show the whole glory of the slash scars. Not even to speak of the many small white lines that she could at this point barely interpret anymore.

Alright. So he had more scars than her. Whatever.

"Droll", she said and let the hem of her tunic drop again, plopping down on the chair. She crossed her legs and made sure he saw that she was looking over his scars carefully. He looked like a freaking blade-cushion. "I am not sure anybody has informed you, but you are supposed to avoid wounds, not collect them. That is what the shield is for, you hide behind it", she explained in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Oooooh", Alistair uttered and leaned in closer. He had opened his eyes wide in mock understanding. "And here I was, thinking I am to bring it along because it makes me look good and brings out the brown in my eyes."

"No, that is what the flowery bonnet is for", she answered and could not help the grin that spread on her lips. "Will you let me put on the bandages now? Pretty please?"

As a way of answer he let himself drop back against the cushion, the twinkle still lighting up his eyes. "If anything starts to lick me, it will be your fault", he murmured.

"I will take responsibility if such a thing occurs." Aífe picked up the bandage again and leaning forward, placed it over the wound carefully. Within minutes she had managed to dress the wound to her satisfaction.

When she was done, she got up to wash her hands and when she returned, Alistair was flexing his arm to see how much movement the dressing allowed him. Somehow, he did not even look all too bothered with the wound and barely affected by the poison.

He looked up as he noticed her staring at him and cocked his head to the side in question when she did not say anything for a few moment. She walked closer slowly, a faint smile on her lips as she put her hands on the chair's backrest.

"Alistair, I want to thank you. Without your aid… I am not sure Nelaros would still be alive. I am not sure any of us would be. I owe you much, you had little reason to help us and yet you did. Thank you", she said.

He shifted around uncomfortably, shrugging as he looked away from her again and folding his hands in his lap. Finally, after a moment, he looked at her again and a trace of a smile was pulling at a corner of his mouth. "Don't mention it."

.

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**Author's Comment:  
><strong>Long chapter is long. *coughs* I simply had to use the chance and let Aífe and Alistair have a bit of fun. Plus, semi-nekkid Alistair and honey on his chest. :p Purely for medical purposes, of course. Nothing else. So, a few things about this chapter:  
>1) The first part I had initially planned not to write, but only mention with Aífe's thoughts. However, I could not quite show Aífe's little breakdown nicely in this way, so I ammended and this is one of the reasons this is a long chapter<br>2) The second reason is, I wanted to tie up loose ends, answer some questions that need to be answered and actually have Alistair and Aífe talk a bit. I hope nobody thinks the progress is too fast too soon, but in my mind they are both finally allowed themselves to breath a bit and both use humour to deal with this kind of situation.  
>3) This is written from Aífe's POV, so after much back and forth I decided not to actually let Alistair ask for a glass of whiskey. I did not fit with the final version of this chapter, even though he's longing for his Nr.1 help to reduce stress, but more about that in the next chapter. I promise I did not forget about his alcoholism problem and I will not let it drop as though it is nothing. =)<br>4) All remedies mentioned in here are not made up, but actually true. They were used in medieval times for wound-treatment and are still used in alternative medicine/non-civilized parts of the world. I looked up far more information than I finally put in here, but I like to put in bits and pieces like this, to show that healing magic is not the only way people can and will treat wounds in Thedas.  
>5) ... My AC is almost as long as my chapter, if I keep writing like this. :p So I'll stop here in terms of chapter-comments.<br>HOWEVER, I will say: Thanks, **Eynla**, for reading over this to check for mistakes. =) If there are still any, please let me know and I will correct them. I also want to thank everybody who reviewed the last chapters - it is a great motivation and makes me feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy. X'3 Thanks **Graymalkyn, BlondMoments, alyssacousland, LadyMimzy, EkoCentric. **Thanks also to everybody who favoured this and is following me. Thanks a ton. :)  
>I hope this chapter was enjoyable and the banter was funny not only in my own head. X'D Let me know what you think of it.<br>Next chapter features:  
>A genius plan, a freaked out Alistair, a decision that will be very important for the story and a revelation of sorts. :3<p> 


	16. Tremble

**Chapter 16: Tremble**

„_Lyna is weakening", Duncan had said. "She has never left her clan before and the path to Ostagar was rough on her. She needs to undergo the Joining as soon as possible, there must not be any delays. Watch over here tomorrow in the Wilds", he had said._

_Alistair disagrees with that choice of words. Weak and her name do not go in a sentence together - not ever. He is pretty sure that if anybody is vulnerable and in need of aid at the moment, then it is him. _

_Lyna levels a glare at him that makes him stop dead in his tracks. Mountains would crumble under such a look. Bears would cower and retreat in fear. He is pretty sure he himself is close to getting some cracks, the smile threatening to crumble away from his lips. In order to relax the situation he instead widens the smile, but the glare only darkens. Fidgeting, he presses his fingers against the smooth surface of the bowl in his hands and looks at her, not finding any words to speak. _

_Her copper red hair is tousled and falling around her pale face, framing it like a pretty picture. He can see the pointy tips of her ears between strands of hair and somewhere not so very deep within, he finds them oddly… fascinating. She is sitting next to the fireplace, her small frame leaning against a cracked wall, and he is almost tempted to think of her as cute, in a way… except, there is that murdering stare from those unbelievably green eyes. The glare defies the exhaustion that is evident in her face. The barely visible sight of her veins turning dark and protruding is unsettling. Her unnaturally pale skin is a disturbingly stark contrast to the dark lines tattooed on her brow, chin and cheeks. Duncan has not said a word, but Alistair is pretty sure that whatever happened in the Brecilian Forest – she was tainted somehow and the Wardens are her last chance._

_Maybe she is weakened, in a way. She is far away from her family and friends and from everything she knows. He knows that he was scared mindless despite all the anger when he was given to the Chantry. Being Dalish helps probably little – people are looking at her, pointing and staring, humans and elves both. Everything about her is different: The ink on her face, the form of her ears, the vibrant colours of her eyes and hair, her pride. She is exposed in a foreign world and he knows the feeling. So maybe he can take care of her, help her through this. He knows what it's like not to fit in._

"_What are you looking at, shem?", she snaps finally, raising her chin defiantly. She curls up tighter, arms crossed in front of her chest, and even from where he is standing he can see that she is shivering. There is little poison in her words, mostly she sounds exhausted._

"_I just thought you might be hungry, you have had a long walk", he answers after a moment. He thinks about offering her the bowl of food, but he is half afraid she will snap his arms like twigs or gnaw his knee-caps off – she is in a perfect position for such an attack, after all. _

"_I brought stew – I know it looks bad, but it tastes alright. Well, actually, it tastes worse than it looks, which is saying a lot. But it's warm and I also got some bread and it fills the belly. Also, I pre-tasted it and I'm still alive and kicking, so I can guarantee that it's not endangering your life – only your taste-buds." He stops himself when he realizes that the more she stares, the more he rambles. He isn't good with this. With her. Really. He should be on the other side of the camp, doing… stuff. Like hitting his head against a wall._

"_I'm not hungry", she says and finally looks away. She pulls the blanket up and around herself and closes her eyes. He feels his shoulders slump._

Alistair woke up with a start and sat up immediately. He hadn't dreamt in a long while or least he had never been able to remember and he would have preferred if it had stayed that way. These dreams weren't exactly nightmares – he didn't wake up in cold sweat, he didn't feel especially panicked. He especially never woke up screaming, it was never that dramatic. But he could feel them tugging at his heart. Sometimes the dreams were memories, sometimes his mind just conjured something out of thin air, but it always reminded him of back then. He hated dreams.

The thirst made his tongue feel like parchment, dried out and dusty. Blindly he reached for the mug Aífe had left standing on the nightstand next to the bed and he gulped the water down. It didn't help. Water did not help at all.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a quiet grunt, his arm pressed to his chest to keep it as immobile as possible. It went well up until the point when he tried to actually get up and put weight on his legs, pushing himself upright. His vision went black and he almost lost balance, letting himself drop back onto the bed just in time.

Bit by bit the darkness receded and Alistair rubbed a hand over his face, scraping over the beginnings of a beard. It felt awfully prickly under his fingers.

He let his hand drop back to his lap and lowered his gaze, grimacing at the blood and dirt under his fingernails. His fingers twitched almost inconceivably and as he lifted his hand slightly, it started to shake. Taking a deep breath he stretched out his fingers, tried to keep them stable, but the trembling only grew worse.

He swallowed and blindly grabbed for the pitcher with water on the nightstand, filling the mug and immediately lifting it to his lips again. He emptied it with big gulps, the water washing down his dry throat and some drops running down over his neck. He was still thirsty and a throbbing headache was starting to pound just behind his eyes.

The little house, barely more than a glorified hut, was confining. It felt like it was becoming smaller by the minute, the air suffocating. There were no windows and the stench of blood and metal hung in the air. Worse than that was the clearness of his thoughts, the shimmer of something long lost and long killed off that would just not stay dead, no matter how much he drowned it. He knew how to at least quiet it.

Alistair pushed himself to his feet again, the sweet smell of honey wafting up from his bandages. This time he managed to keep on his feet and when he took a step away from the bed, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

There was a tall mirror leaning against the corner of the room, matted and dirty and cracked around the corners. He barely recognized the man staring back at him. The beard looked even worse than he had imagined – he had seen the like on pirates, dock workers and on occasion fellow mercenaries. The bandages wrapped around his shoulder looked unnaturally white, a stark contrast to his skin and the dark breeches that had at some point been of quite fine quality. A long time ago. Just like he himself.

The beard did not fit him. And his hair looked awful.

Scratching his chin he turned away from the mirror, unwilling to contemplate the thought, and found Grimm standing in the doorframe, staring up at him. When he said nothing, the hound cocked his head to the side as if puzzled.

A quick look around showed that Aífe was nowhere in sight and the only conclusion he could draw was that she had left the house. There was a nest consisting of a blanket and a bedroll on the floor, now messy and quickly pushed aside. A few blades were on the table and only now he noticed that she had propped his sword and shield against the nightstand, almost within reach of the bed. The leather stretched over the shield hid the silver griffon, but he could trace the outlines even without seeing them. The longsword was plain and simple, lacking any ornaments. Despite its looks, it was one of the finest blades he had ever wielded. More importantly, it had belonged to the one man that had ever stood up for him.

He felt a lump settle in his gut and averted his eyes, hand trembling slightly as he pressed it against his thigh. He'd get another sip of water. Maybe some ale or whatever else. There had to be something in the house.

Alistair was ripped from his thoughts when Grimm barked at him sharply and padded past him, looking at the abandoned bed. Then the dog returned his gaze to him and huffed.

"I am fine, I can stand up", Alistair said gruffly.

Grimm huffed again and sat down, letting his tongue loll out. The look was accusing. At least it felt accusing.

"Look, I'm not going to argue with you about this. It's only a superficial wound now, I can very well get up if I feel like it." Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised his chin.

The Mabari cocked his head to the side, then to the other one. After a moment, he got up and uttered another sharp bark, ears flat to his skull for a moment.

"You know, here I was, thinking you're a war hound and not some kind of midwife. My bad. I think the muzzle threw me off." Leaning forward as if to get a closer look, Alistair nodded slowly and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The muzzle and the ears."

There was a moment of hesitation and Grimm's ears twitched this way and that way as if the dog wasn't sure what to do with the statement. Finally he threw Alistair a dirty look and got up, staring silently and accusingly.

"I'm a grown man!", Alistair snapped and threw his hands up in the air. He regretted the motion immediately as the bandages pulled tight over the wound and he winced, letting the arm sink again. The look in Grimm's eyes was way too smug. "I'll not lie down again, get over it. So unless you body check me to the floor, I'll stay up."

For a split second Grimm seemed to consider that and Alistair put his legs wider apart in case he had to try and withstand the dog. He should not have given the hound ideas, he really shouldn't have.

"Don't you have other things to do? Things to sniff? Stuff to lick?", Alistair asked wearily, unwilling to have a discussion with somebody that didn't even have the decency to turn away when licking his private parts. "Where is your mistress anyhow?"

At the mention of Aífe, Grimm got up and walked passed him towards the door, pawing at it with a whine. The hound pressed his nose against the small gap between door and floor and sniffed audibly, then pawed some more with a deep sigh.

Alistair was actually surprised that she had left - the candles were already burning low and while he was not sure how long he had slept, he was pretty sure she had been gone for a while now. He had no idea where the woman had gone and when looking around could also not see a note of any sort.

"You are up, good."

Alistair almost jumped out of his skin at the quiet voice that cut through the silence. Only slowly he transferred his look from Grimm to the small bed to his left and saw that Nelaros had turned his head to look at him. The elf's skin was still pale, but his green eyes were vibrant as ever and if nothing else, so he looked at least to be without pain.

"Sorry if I woke you up, I thought you'd sleep deeply", Alistair murmured, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes dropped to the floor, noticing the huge stain of red below the bed. Looking up to Nelaros again, he saw the elf was smiling softly at him.

"Don't worry, you didn't wake me up. I just had my eyes closed. You are alright, yes?", Nelaros asked and nodded at him. "Grimm is also in best health, if all the pacing he has been doing is any indication."

The hound perked his ears at the mention of his name and turned to look at them, little tail wagging slowly as a way of answer. He got up and trotted over to the bed, putting his head on the mattress next to Nelaros' fingers and licking them.

"Me and Grimm are fine, as far as I can tell." Alistair shifted his weight, unsure what to say or do. "Don't worry about that", he added with a throw-away motion of one hand.

The smile on the elf's face widened and he nodded again. "I'm glad to hear that." Then his features turned more serious and he glanced around in the room. "Lady Aífe is not here? Is she alright? I haven't seen her. My memory is… hazy. I barely remember anything. What happened?"

Nelaros started to cough violently, effectively cutting himself off from further questions. The warrior quickly filled water into an empty mug and returned to the elf, unsure how to proceed. After a moment's hesitation he slipped his arm beneath the other man's shoulders and helped him sit up, wincing at the pain that laced through his own wound. It wasn't too bad, however, and this way he could actually let the elf drink.

"Aífe wasn't wounded, she and Grimm were a bit smarter than the both of us", Alistair said and quickly cleared his throat. "Not that I wanted to say you're not smart, I just meant…" He let the sentence trail off and lowered the mug after Nelaros had taken a few slow and careful slips.

The elf was chuckling quietly, eyes closed briefly. "I get it, and I agree." Breathing a deep sigh as if relieved of some sort of burden, Nelaros opened his eyes again, the smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "At least I'll know what part of my armour I need to reinforce when I have a good look at it, hmm?"

Which would not exactly have been Alistair's first thought, but then he was no smith and his sentiments had been far more crude and along the lines of '_blasted assassins with their blasted poisons poisoning people in blasted, back-handed ways'_.

Letting the elf drink a bit more, he recounted the fight and what had happened after - as much as he knew, anyhow. When the mug was empty, he gently lowered Nelaros to the bed again and took a step back, the mug still in his hands. "Aífe wasn't here when I woke up. I guess she's out, but I don't know where."

Grimm barked his affirmative and nudged Nelaros' leg, clearly wanting to jump onto the bed and barely resisting. He already had one paw on the mattress and was half propped up. When they locked eyes, the hound dropped the paw down onto the floor again and averted his eyes guiltily.

"Thank you, Alistair. I... thank you for aiding us. Not everybody would have", Nelaros said suddenly and Alistair gripped the mug tighter. "I didn't think you'd really come to the meeting point that night. I'm glad you did." The smith's eyes flickered to Alistair's fingers and seemed suddenly worried. "Are you really alright? Your hand is shaking."

Alistair quickly nodded and put the mug down on the table, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. The headache was back or perhaps he had just not noticed it before, and he could only hope the smile on his lips wasn't as shaky as his hands.

"Perfectly fine, just not fully awake yet, I guess", Alistair said and rubbed his hand over his cheek. As long as he was moving, it wasn't even noticeable. It would go away once he had a quick drink. "It's been a long night. Or long nights. I'm not quite sure." He laughed and shrugged with one shoulder.

Grimm turned to look at him and huffed in an all-too familiar tone. Alistair was fairly sure that it had been the dog-version of 'I told you so'. He spread his fingers in a gesture of surrender and sighed.

"I'll go back to bed soon. Don't pester me", he mumbled and heard Nelaros chuckle.

"Is there anything you need, though? You aren't completely healed, you still wear bandages", the elf said and carefully tried to prop himself up on his elbows with a grunt of effort.

Grimm's head swivelled around and he immediately put his paws on the bed, propping himself up, barking two times sharply. Then he turned his head towards Alistair and barked one more time. Finally, with a huff that made a few loose feathers from the mattress float up and away, he put a paw on Nelaros' leg. The two men stared at the dog for a moment, then Nelaros lowered himself onto the bed again, leaning his head back in quiet laughter.

Alistair felt a grin pull at his own lips and shook his head.

"You seem displeased, Grimm. Something the matter?", he asked innocently and raised an eyebrow.

The reaction was immediate. Grimm growled as he pushed himself away from the bed, turned two times around himself and then sat down, head thrown back in a yowl of despair – eyes closed and ears flat against his skull in a display of total frustration or concentration, Alistair wasn't quite sure.

Biting back a laugh, the warrior turned back towards Nelaros, who was watching him with a friendly smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling. Alistair pressed his hands against his thighs, keeping the tremble in check and shook his head at the elf.

"In case you haven't noticed… I'm already on my feet again. If anything, I should ask you if you need anything. Well, anything that I can provide. Or find", Alistair said and murmured under his breath as he looked around. He had no idea where anything was, really. He knew that there was an almost empty pitcher of water, he knew that there were a few more candles on the table and that was pretty much it, really.

"That is kind of you", Nelaros said. "If it's alright, could you please hand me the cup again? I still feel thirsty." He looked almost embarrassed at the request and with an apologetic look towards Grimm, he propped himself up on one elbow. Alistair noticed the tremble in the elf's body and quickly put a steadying hand on his shoulder, offering him the cup. "Thank you", Nelaros murmured and took it from him.

They remained in awkward silence for a moment after the cup was empty and Alistair had stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. He licked his dry lips and carefully set the cup down.

Unable to bear the silence much longer, Alistair pulled out the chair and let himself drop onto it, which Grimm took as an invitation despite his previous indignation with the men. The hound trotted over, sat down in front of him and let his head drop on Alistair's lap. It was fairly obvious what he expected from the long and soulful stare he directed at the warrior.

The silence grew and Alistair winced. He might as well use the moment to get some more answers. There had been questions that bugged him – he had ignored them before and would probably still have, if he hadn't felt so compelled to break the silence.

Petting Grimm, he looked back to the elf. "I was wondering something. You said you're a smith?"

Nelaros smiled and Alistair thought to see a hint of pride in it. "I am. I was allowed to train under Master Veland after I showed promise. The last years have been very kind to me, I've been able to work with materials I wouldn't have dreamed of when I started out. Silverite, white steel – and even drake bone once!" The smith smiled fondly at the memory and seemed to be much more relaxed. "Master Veland had a very special technique, it originated back in the Black Ages. It's said that back when the warriors rode against the werewolves under Mather and later Haelia Cousland, they needed stronger and sharper blades and a master smith developed those after long years of study. The trick is a combination of materials that need to be welded together over several days, the blade needs a soft and light core. At the same time, the blade must be hard and resistant, so it's vital to…"

Nelaros cut himself off, an embarrassed smile on his lips as he averted his eyes. "That's not what you asked, though. What's the question?"

"I just…" Alistair gestured vaguely towards the table in the other room, where some of Aífe's weapons were laid out as if she had assessed her arsenal before leaving. There was pretty much no way to ask without sounding at least somewhat rude, but it did make him wonder. "I'm just curious as to why a lady Cousland and a smith would travel Thedas. I mean, Aífe told me that you're looking to find those that were sold by Howe, but I imagine it's barely possible to find them all at best. It didn't seem like anybody would care enough to even try, back when I saw it first-hand in Denerim. I just… why Aífe and you of all people?"

He had pondered that quite a bit since she had told him and it still didn't make perfect sense. All things considered, it was unusual that an elf was even allowed to smith weapons, let alone carry them. Perhaps Highever was different from Denerim in that respect? Still, Nelaros had introduced himself as a smith and not as a warrior or archer or anything else and that was quite telling. He didn't consider himself a fighter, he considered himself a smith, period.

Alistair had watched, of course, and he had seen that the elf was above average with a bow and had fast reflexes and quick thinking. However, it had become obvious that he was not a trained fighter – or at least hadn't been for a very long time. So why take the elf on such a quest? Moreover, he would have thought that Aífe was needed in Highever after the Blight… Unless… Unless the land had never been returned to her.

He swallowed and locked eyes with Nelaros, who had been quiet for a moment as if considering his words. Not good. He shouldn't have asked. He should just have accepted the silence. Or talked about the weather. "I'm an idiot, I'm sorry. I didn't think before talking, that happens to me quite a lot. Sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up like that, it's not something that I should ask, it's personal. Forget I asked."

The elf's eyes widened in surprise and he blinked, clearly confused. "Why are you apologizing?" After a split second, he struggled to sit upright, leaning his back against the wall with a small grunt. Grimm, clearly annoyed that any and all of his earlier warnings were ignored, uttered a huff and rubbed his head against Alistair's belly after the warrior had stopped stroking his head.

"It's not what you think!", Nelaros exclaimed and shook his head quickly. "I'd never think that way about Lady Aífe!" His eyes wide, he shook his head again, clearly distressed about the thought. If possible, he had turned even paler. "We've at no point – not ever…! I hope I didn't give that impression by any of my actions. Truly, we're friends and I have sworn an oath to serve and protect her. She's done much for me and my family. It has nothing to do with..." He stopped talking when he caught sight of Alistair's expression.

"Wait, what?", the warrior asked and tilted his head to the side. The gears in his head started to finally work together and his eyes widened as he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Oh. _Ooooooh_.

"No! Maker, no! That is _not_ what I had meant!", he felt heat creep up his neck and busied himself with rubbing Grimm's neck extensively. The hound was looking back and forth between them, licking his chops. Alistair was pretty sure it was an expression akin to amusement. "I really didn't mean that, let me explain. It just occurred to me that perhaps after all that happened in Ferelden and because Highever fell to Howe during the Blight… Perhaps it wasn't even reinstated returned to Aífe as Teyrna of Highever, after what happened. I only realized it now. I just… I didn't think what you thought I thought."

Nelaros' shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes briefly in relief, blowing out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions. It just sound like you thought… well. I see."

The elf suddenly found the pattern of his blanket very interesting, fixating them as he was biting his lips. "In any case, after the Battle of Denerim and after the queen was crowned, Highever was officially returned to the Cousland family and their title reinstated. Teyrn Cousland – Lady Aífe's brother – had returned to Highever just shortly before and succeeded his father", he explained. "The Howe's were stripped of all titles and most of their lands given to the Wardens, as far as I've been told. Some towns close to the border that joined the rebellion were given to the Cousland family as compensation."

Alistair nodded slowly. He hadn't known that Fergus Cousland had survived the Blight, all the rumours back then had said he had perished with most of his soldiers at Ostagar and that the younger Cousland sibling was the last of the line. He hadn't really tried to find out what happened after the Blight. Not with anything in Ferelden. All he had asked was – well. He knew Teagan and Eamon were alive and he knew that the Hero of Ferelden was alive. That had been hard to overhear, anyhow. Just as hard as the praise for the Hero of the River Dane, being once again celebrated as the saviour. Alistair shook his head, gritting his teeth.

"We left Ferelden soon after the coronation and the first Landsmeet. There were several reasons… I'm not even sure I know all of them, you'd have to ask her yourself. Some were political." Nelaros smiled apologetically.

"It's fine, I didn't mean to pry, really. I just figured since we're here and we can't go anywhere right now anyhow…" Alistair let his voice trail off and buried his fingers in Grimm's fur. The hound panted in delight, humming deep within his chest.

"Oh, no, don't worry. There's nothing secret about it, it's just not all that simple or quick to explain." The smile had returned to Nelaros features – something that came easy to him, Alistair thought. "Many things happened during the rebellion and we didn't come out of it without some cracks and breaks. Basically, I'm here, because Lady Aífe is here." He shrugged and the smile deepened, his eyes crinkling. "One day I'm working at the forge and she comes and tells me that she'll leave that very day. She didn't say much, just that she had come to the conclusion that it was her duty and that she'd need to set out as soon as possible. Asked me to help her brother with the alienage and then tried to slip away just like that."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at the elf. He wondered what had happened during the rebellion up north and regretted not paying better attention in all the taverns back then. He knew the rebellion had even been called civil war at a point, that people had been hanged and some nobles actively banded together against Loghain but ultimately lost. He also knew that while some Banns and Lords banded together, Aífe had never joined them. She had let guerrilla attacks on incoming troops and had cut off supply lines, but she had never led an army or joined the others. Beyond that, he'd only heard bits and pieces of rumours and he was pretty sure most of them were just that. Rumours. He couldn't very well imagine that she had a cloak woven from shadows that hid her in the dark and allowed her to walk unseen.

"Tried?", Alistair asked finally.

Nelaros looked thoughtful as he nodded. "You see, after Arl Howe… Howe had taken over, things changed drastically in Highever. It went really bad really fast. There were curfews in place, people vanishing in the castle and soldiers everywhere. Whoever so much as asked one too many questions was put to work at the castle and vanished after some time or came back… different." Nelaros looked down at his hands as if remembering something, the smile leaving his lips as he shook his head. "It wasn't right and I knew it and everybody else knew it, but nobody did a thing. We were scared, but that doesn't make it right. We should have acted earlier", he repeated.

The warrior nodded again, unsure whether he was supposed to say or do something. Grimm had lifted his head, ears perked, and was listening to the elf intently.

"They banned me from the forge. Elves touching weapons was not allowed, you see, so I could no longer work. Many were forced to stay at home like that. We managed to get by – scraps, hunting out in the woods and hoping nobody caught us. One day they took away my sister. She is very pretty, you see. My father tried to fight them, but they just killed him. He had no weapons, it was easy for them. The few soldiers that were usually kind and turned another eye for us, they didn't do anything. Nobody did anything." Nelaros paused, taking a deep breath and leaning his head against the wall.

"I only got to know what had happened when I returned from the forest days later. I'd have gone to the castle to get her back, but they said I'd just die and what use would that be. I wanted to go, I really did. Nobody ever did anything, but I needed to do something. I left the city and went to search for Lady Aífe. We'd heard rumours that she was alive and close-by and I knew that back then, when Teyrn Cousland held the castle, nothing like this ever happened. Back then we were people and not just elves. I searched for her and one day she found me. I begged her for help and she helped, no questions asked. I swore to serve and protect her, stand at her side, since I didn't have anything else to give in return. I know it isn't much and I'm no knight, but I swore to not stand by and let things happen anymore. It wasn't right. So, when she stands in my forge and tells me that she's leaving, I decide to come with her and help her. Even if I'm just a smith", Nelaros explained.

Grimm woofed quietly, putting his paw on the bed and cocking his head to the side. "Yes, as did Grimm. Initially, she wanted to go alone and she wasn't too thrilled when she found us on the ship, to be honest", Nelaros admitted and reached out to pat the hound. "So, I'm here because I owe Lady Aífe and because it's right. I'm no warrior and I know it, but I'm good with a bow and I do what I can."

He looked up finally, locking eyes with Alistair, and shrugged almost sheepishly. "It's not much and I'm mostly just a smith, but I do what I can to help make things right."

An odd feeling surged through the warrior, one he couldn't quite place. The statement was so genuine and without any filter. Perhaps a bit naïve. Perhaps a bit like he himself had been a long time ago. He felt his fingers twitch and clenched them into a fist in his lap.  
>"That might have been a bit too much information", Nelaros said slowly and cleared his throat. "I just thought it might be easier to understand why I'm here, if I told you."<p>

"It is. Thanks." Alistair looked the other man over for a moment. "Could you free your sister?"

He didn't even need to wait for the elf to speak, the way in which he lowered his gaze and the manner in which he pressed his lips together was already answer enough. "Others were still at the docks when we reached the port. Some children and a few others that had been selected. My sister was no longer among them."

"I'm sorry." He really was. It was unimaginable how many had been simply taken and sold like cattle – in Denerim, in Highever… perhaps even in Amaranthine or Gwaren. Nobody paid attention to a few elves during the Blight, especially not in cities that had nobody left to actually look after the people. Alistair didn't even want to consider the number of people shipped off.

"Me too", Nelaros answered and rubbed a thumb over the blanket. "It's not over yet, though. She's very pretty. Lady Aífe says it's likely they put her to work in some noble house as a servant and that she's still alive."

"Yeah", Alistair agreed and hoped Nelaros didn't pick up on the doubt in his voice.

They set in silence for a bit, before the elf raised spoke again. "You're a warrior, though. I've not seen many with your skill. Why'd you leave Ferelden?"

Not having expected the question, Alistair sat up straight and opened his mouth, but was unsure what to say. Because... Because of what? Because for once he refused to blindly accept what fate was throwing his way? Because he meant too little to be listened to but too much to be executed right on the spot? Because they bound him and shoved him onto the ship, held him down and threatened to cut his throat if he so much as thought of coming back? Because he was a coward and he had actually accepted that.

"I wasn't welcome any longer. I had no place left there. Kirkwall was the first city I entered and I stayed here since then", he said finally and could hear the grit in his own voice and feel the _angerpainnumbness_ in his chest.

Once Aífe returned, he'd say his good-byes and leave. He'd go to the Hanged Man, sit down, and drink. He'd be alright, as he always was.

"I'm sorry about that", Nelaros said, his expression open and honest as always. He looked at his hands for a moment, and then searched Alistair's eyes. "Not that it would help much, but I could have a look at your armour and weapons. Repair them for you."

The warrior almost laughed in surprise, and while the laughter didn't quite make it up all the way, a smile spread on his lips. "It's alright."  
>Grimm, who had been watching him with far too intelligent eyes, suddenly swivelled around and was at the door with two leaps. Nose to the crack between door and floor, he whined and wagged his tail excitedly. With a bark he jumped back, chest to the floor and butt in the air, staring at the door.<p>

It opened with a creak – just enough for a slim form to slip in – and was closed and locked quickly and quietly. The only reason Alistair was fairly sure that the back that was turned towards him belonged to Aífe, was the Mabari that was now dancing around her, shoving his head against her hips to get her attention. Also, the small yelp of pain as the hound trampled over her toes sounded very much like her.

Otherwise, she looked very much like she _wasn't_ Aífe. For starters, he couldn't see any weapons on her. She wore a filthy brown skirt barely reaching below her knees and a once-upon-a-time-white blouse that looked like it had seen better days. Truth be told, his gaze was drawn to her shoes, though. They were red. Really red. Kick-you-in-the-eyes-red. And a particular kind of ugly. As she turned around, he could see that she had braided her hair rather clumsily as if she was completely unused to doing it or perhaps as if she had been through a lot in this day alone. She looked very… _refugee-y_ for a lack of a better word.

Aífe caught sight of him and seemed clearly surprised as she faltered in mid-step.

"You have woken up", she said and blinked. His fingers relaxed against his thigh ad he raised his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but then her eyes landed on Nelaros and she dropped the pack she was carrying instantly.

"Nel!" She was at the bed with a few steps, took her friend's hand and squeezed it as she leaned forward to pull him into a hug. Nelaros laughed breathlessly, perhaps a bit embarrassed, and hugged her back with a smile.

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**Author's Comment:**  
>Again, a bunch of things I need to babble about.. as always. X'D<br>1) Originally, this chapter was titled "Insanity's Fat Prey" and had a very different dynamic and ending. Then, however, Nelaros swooped in and kinda took it from me. He needed more characterization and spot-light and I hope I could achieve that.  
>2) Some background info woven into this for you. Lyna and Loghain are both alive and heroes; Aífe never joined the Banns and Lords that actively battled Loghain and were defeated at Winter's Breath. Reasons as to why will come later. :)<br>3) The return of some issues that were a bit less important with all the blood and near-death and all, I hope you'll notice which ones I meant. I didn't want them in-your-face-obvious, but still clearly visible.  
>4) Grimm is very frustrated. I think he needs a cookie. Nobody is listening to him. D:<br>5) Whoa, we're getting pretty close to 100 reviews. *_* Just... whoa. I have the feeling I should do something special for reviewer #100. X'D

Thanks, **Eynla and alyssacousland**, for reading over this to check for mistakes. =) You know the drill, should there be still mistakes hiding... EXECUTE THEM!

*cough* *cough* Or just tell me. And I'll correct them.

Thanks very, very much to **BlondMoments, alyssacousland, Darkly Tranquil, reality deviant, Melysande, **Graymalkyn** and EkoCentric. **I love your reviews, I squee when I read them and I'm not even ashamed to admit, they're saved in my mailbox in a folder. :p NOT ASHAMED! \o/  
>Thanks also to you guys who put this on their alert or favourite list - I got a few notifications these days and am grinning like a freshly painted rocking horse. :3 (meaning - all shiny and happy)<br>I hope you all enjoy this chapter and would love to hear your opinion on it!


	17. Unfiltered Chaos

**Chapter 17: Unfiltered Chaos**

Aífe hugged Nelaros close, allowing herself to bury her face in his neck for a small moment. He felt cold in her arms and she bit back a shuddering intake of breath, but the firmness she felt under her fingers and the hesitant strength in his arms as he hugged her back was reassuring.

As she leaned back, hands on his shoulders to study him, she absolutely could not fight the relieved laugh that spilt from her lips.

"Oh, Nel," she murmured and shook her head. "Please do not scare me like this again. I thought my heart might stop."

When she saw him lowering his eyes and press his lips together in obvious guilt, she rapped a knuckle against his brow. Nelaros looked up and blinked in surprise, opening his mouth to say something, but she did not give him the chance to speak.

"What I meant to say, Nel, is that I am grateful and happy to see you awake. I am glad that you are sitting up and that you seem to be without pain. I am a bit miffed that you are in a state that already allows you to try and apologize, but I will take it as a good sign." She squeezed his shoulders tightly, before she moved away from the bed, her eyes still on her friend. "No apologies, Nelaros. You have done nothing wrong, nothing at all. What happened was nobody's fault, you hear me?" Except for hers, because she should have paid more attention. Above all, she should not have just assumed that the ship was gone and with it everybody with a direct interest in the situation. She should have… She did not exactly know what she should have.

"Nobody's fault," Nelaros repeated and ripped her from her thoughts. He was looking at her intently, probably guessing her thoughts, judging by his small frown.

She would have debated that point, but there was little use in it. It was clear to her that she had reacted too late and would have walked straight into them if not for Alistair's warning, but it was also clear that she could not change what had happened. She could, however, make damn sure it never happened again.

"I am actually surprised you are sitting up," she said and put her hands on her hip. Then, turning around on the spot to face Alistair, she raised an eyebrow. "And you, out of bed."

The words had barely left her mouth, when Grimm pushed past her to glower at the men for a moment and then turned to look at her, whining most miserably. He sat down with a deep sigh, leaning heavily against her and she crouched down, hugging him close.

"Did they give you trouble, Grimm?" It was hard to suppress the chuckle, but she managed to – up till he actually pressed his head against her chest and whined. "Awww, my sweet," she cooed and stroked his brow, "All is fine, I am here now."

He peered out from in between her arms and twitched his nose, looking at Alistair with dark eyes. The warrior had trouble ripping his gaze from her shoes, which he had taken in rather intently, and returned the look. "Don't believe a word he says. If anything, he gave me trouble. I just wanted to get out of bed and prevent bedsores, preferably without getting nagged at by anybody."

She considered for the fraction of a second to actually pat him on the cheek and say something such as '_There, there_' – but then, she was pretty sure they had not reached that point in their acquaintance yet and making him back into a corner would not help her ulterior motives. In fact, she'd very much prefer him to be at ease for what was to come.

So, instead, she simply chuckled and looked him over. "In his defence, you do look a bit rough around the edges." To put it mildly. As a matter of fact, had she met him outside in the streets she'd have made sure to not get anywhere too close. His hair was tousled, the beginnings of a beard just added to the gruff look and the bandaged shoulder helped little to oppose that assumption. All he needed was an eye patch. _Yarrrrr_.

He raised his eyebrows at her and she motioned with her thumb and index finger, holding them very close together. "Just a bit." Which was a lie. But he did not need to know that, just like he did not need to know that she had concluded he would make a rather dashing pirate. A far too kind and polite one that would ultimately starve to death because he assisted old grannies passing the ocean instead of robbing them, but still dashing.

"Thanks," he murmured and lowered his eyes to her boots again. She followed his gaze and wiggled her toes in the too-big-shoes. What was up with the fixation? Did he have Orlesian ancestors?

"What is it?" she finally asked when he kept staring.

"You went out like this?" He vaguely motioned towards her and she blinked. When she cast a glance at Nelaros, she saw that he seemed rather amused. Looking down to inspect her clothes did not reveal anything that could have caused said amusement.

"Yes, I considered putting on my armour again, but that would only have attracted attention. I wanted to remain widely unnoticed," she explained after some hesitation.

The laughter that escaped Alistair was obviously involuntary, as he quickly tried to shut himself up, but had a hard time doing so. After a moment Nelaros joined in and Aífe looked between them, wondering if she had missed something vital. Such as late side-effects of the poison.

"To remain unnoticed?" Nelaros chuckled quietly, looking her over again until his eyes landed at her boots and remained there.

Men. No sense of logic whatsoever. "Yes, remain unnoticed. I will have you know that these shoes were a vital part in all this." She gestured towards her get-up. Since there was not even a hint of understanding on their faces, she felt compiled to elaborate. "I bought all of this from a fair-haired refugee of roughly my stature. They are well worn and Fereldan in style, hopefully leading people to think that I am yet another Fereldan refugee. Hence my accent would not be suspicious. Yes?"

Alistair nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed. "The boots, however…"

"The boots are part of it all. You see, nothing is more suspicious than a completely unsuspicious person nobody knows popping up in your neighbourhood," she explained. They looked rather unconvinced, so she continued. "First of all, these boots have been running around in Lowtown for almost a year by now and are probably well known. Secondly, anybody who looks at me will notice the boots and not my face. They might remember me, but mostly just the boots. So when you are a sneaky assassin and ask people about a blond Fereldan woman that was either wearing armour or tried very hard to remain unseen, then the last person you think to be your target is the one that has been seen around nearly every day, running around in broad daylight in red boots. You see, it is only logical that in this way I was most likely to remain largely unnoticed."

Alistair looked rather doubtful as he cast a side-glance at Nelaros and wordlessly raised an eyebrow. The elf blinked, looked at her and offered a weak smile that should probably be reassuring.

"No sense of stealth," she murmured darkly. They probably thought putting a dark hood over your head and staying in the shadows, pressed against walls, was the best way to remain unseen. Ridiculous.

Deciding to ignore their exchange of looks, she instead picked up her pack and put it on the table, opening it up to reveal the food she had bought – cheese, bacon, a bottle of wine and one of milk. She took out a piece of meat and unpacked it, before she sat it down on the other side of the room. Grimm immediately trailed after her and stood hovering over it, licking his chops. "Eat slowly." Only after she had spoken he bent to tear into it and she returned to the men.

None of them had taken anything and she wondered if they, too, needed a bit encouragement or a command. She motioned towards it and slipped out of her boots as she did so. "Eat, you need the strength. You both have not eaten much the last days."

Alistair pushed himself to his feet instead and took a step towards her. She noticed that he was rubbing his hands against his thighs as if nervous. "I only waited for you to return to let you know that I'll…"

She did not let him finish. Brushing past him, she dug into the pack and pulled clear a tunic that she was pretty sure would fit him. "I found a stand selling clothes on my way, here, take this. I am sorry it took a while, but I think it will fit you. Let me know if I should give you a hand with it, yes?"

He took it from her rather reluctantly, thumb rubbing over the blue cloth. As he looked up from it, he locked eyes with her and took another step towards her. "Thanks, you needn't have bothered. Listen, I wanted to tell you…"

She knew pretty well what he wanted to say, it was evident by the way in which he had been eyeing the door for a moment before and by his whole demeanour now. Thankfully, he was polite. And politeness was not very high on her list of priorities right now. So she cut him off again. "You should eat, it's fresh and the bread is still warm. Could you cut off a piece for Nelaros, too? I will be back in a moment, I just need to get out of these."

The tactic worked – or at least in so far as he did not follow her to keep talking, probably afraid he would walk into her getting out of her clothes, and he would not leave without his weapons and armour. She took that as a success of sorts.

As she exchanged her clothes against breeches and a tunic, she pondered the best way to proceed from here on out. Nelaros would be worried, no doubt, but he would agree with her and offer no argument. He rarely ever did, unless he thought she was taking unnecessary risks – and in most cases she could still convince him of her idea sooner rather than later.

Alistair, however… he was keen on leaving. She was not sure as to why, but the fact that in the few days spent with them he had gotten wounded twice, poisoned once and almost assassinated on top of it could very well be the reason. Still, she had no choice and she did not think he had much of one, either.

Slipping into the tunic, she made a face at the unpleasant feeling of the breast-band rubbing over her already sensitive skin. It was itching and felt uncomfortable after days on end of wearing it, she longed to take it off, but would not yet allow herself to do so. She wanted to be prepared in case it came down to a surprising fight.

Aífe took a moment to contemplate the situation. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders and massaged the left one softly with her right hand. She could no longer delay, the city was getting too dangerous and they had to leave as soon as possible. The last days she had only caught a few hours of sleep here or there, barely relaxed enough to allow herself to even lie down. Even if she was able to keep this up for a bit longer with the help of herbs or pure stubbornness, she would be in no shape to fight if it came down to it. Reaction time lowered, reflexes sluggish, judgement impaired. It was no use, they had to leave, even if Nelaros was still in a poor condition.

However, first… first she would have to talk Alistair into joining them. Letting her arms drop to her sides again, she remained still for one more moment. It would not be easy. He had little reason to welcome the idea and had been eager to leave them. It was the only viable option, though, and she would convince him. One way or another. Steeling herself, she stepped back into the other room.

Nelaros was eating with little gusto and dropped bits and pieces of cheese that Grimm was quick to catch and swallow without a blink. It came as no surprise that the Mabari had finished off his meat already.

"Aren't you eating anything, Lady Aífe?" the elf asked her and she shook her head.

"I ate while walking, this is all for you." She settled down on the edge of the bed, so she had Nelaros at her back and Alistair right in front of her. He was not eating, instead he was leaning against the table with his hips, watching her with slight irritation.

"I don't imagine you just went out to get food," Nelaros ventured when the silence grew too long.

Aífe was keeping her eyes on the warrior. Oh, he would be far more irritated by the end of the day than he probably imagined. Wordlessly she nodded and then busied herself by opening her braid and instead arranging her hair in a bun. Alistair's fingers were rubbing over his breeches, an automatic and absentminded gesture that he was probably not aware of.

"You are correct, I wanted to find answers. Originally I wanted to wait until you are both awake and I am sure that you are fine, but I thought that time was of the essence and if nobody knows yet where we are, they will soon," she explained. "I am sorry I left you alone, I tried to be as fast as I could but it was considerably harder to get information than I had anticipated."

Alistair was getting more impatient if the darkening of his eyes or the way he flexed his jaw were any indication. He was waiting for an opening to speak, she thought, and she was not keen on giving him one before she had dropped the bomb.

"I'd feel better if you hadn't left alone, my lady. People might be looking for you. It's dangerous to go alone, you should have taken Grimm," Nelaros said quietly and she cast him a smile over her shoulder. Grimm was very obviously agreeing with him, judging from the huff she heard as he put his head on her lap.

"It was necessary. I was less likely to be noticed on my own than with any of you. The giant Mabari war hound is not easy to overlook and dragging an unconscious man behind me might also have seemed slightly out of the ordinary." Aífe turned to look at Alistair. He was weary. It was evident in the way he was eying her. She felt almost bad.

There was little use in delaying any further, she figured. He knew something was up.

"I think you should come with us when we leave Kirkwall." There, she had said it. Put the little sentence in the room and let it sit there, demurely, waiting to be judged. She liked her choice of words. It had taken her all the way here to come up with it, as simple as it was.

Alistair almost chocked on his own spit and looked at her like a deer caught unawares by an awfully big and very hungry wolf. He had been expecting something, but apparently not this. Aífe decided to take advantage of the momentary silence and accept her role as wolf of sorts.

"I am aware that you had not planned to join us and I do understand your decision, I really do," she said and flexed her fingers. "You have your reservations, with good cause. However, right here and right now we have to look at the bigger picture, considering everything I have found out. "

The warrior had managed to recover by now, pounding a fist against his chest to keep from coughing. His eyes looked slightly glazed as he stared at her. "Absolutely not!"

"I told you that I left to get some more information. I found out something that changes everything," she said. He did not move an inch, but just shook his head vehemently.

"I don't care – I don't care at all. I'm glad I could help and all, but that's that and it's done now. I'll leave and return to my room and you do whatever you do. I'll just leave," he said. He was turning the tunic in his hands, so he could quickly slip into it.

Nelaros had a worried look on his face and his gaze wandered from one to the other. "What have you found out, then?" he asked, the bread he was holding completely forgotten. Grimm was eyeing it and Aífe could feel drool soak through her breeches, since the hound still had his head on her lap. She put her hands over the dog's eyes, but the drooling continued. Glutton.

"I found out who bought the children," Aífe answered slowly, not averting her eyes from Alistair. "Please, listen. This is important for you to know, Alistair."

"I can't come with you," Alistair insisted and moved away from her and the table to slip into the tunic. He winced when he moved his shoulder too quickly and stopped mid-movement, arms only half-way raised. "You said one day and one night and all you wanted is my sword and my silence. I gave you that. It's all done." He sounded as if he was talking to himself as much as he was talking to her. His eyes wandered from her to the tunic.

Worrying her lip, she stood up from the bed and moved a step closer, wondering if he would jump and run if she tried to help him get the tunic down over his shoulder as a sign of good-will. Technically, she was between him and the door. Practically, she could do little to really stop him.

"I know, Alistair, and I am sorry. I could not predict what would happen – had I known it all, I would not have come to you. I am sorry I dragged you into this," she said and meant it. Not wanting to give him more time to think or talk, she decided to simply let it drop. "The Antivan Crows bought the children. As far as they are concerned, we stole from them."

Alistair stopped his struggle to get fully clothed. Letting his arms drop down, he just looked at her. The tunic slipped down over his arms and he barely caught it with one hand. Surprise, shock and then disbelief took over – it was far too easy to read him, he did not try to hide anything. His lips twitched into a poor imitation of a smile.

"What?" he finally asked, although it was not really a question. He had heard her just fine.

Nelaros had set up straight and started to say something, but then a cough racked his body and he had a hard time recovering. Aífe cast him a worried glance, but he managed to grab the mug with water and empty it, wiping an arm over his mouth as he looked at her, eyes wide.

"The _Reina del Océano_ is indeed an Antivan ship, owned by a certain prince of Antiva. His name is Claudio Valisti. I have never heard of him before, but I know now that the ship's home-port is Antiva City," Aífe explained.

"That doesn't prove anything," Alistair interrupted her, stepping closer to her. "It could just as well sail towards a different city and even if it returns to Antiva, that doesn't mean the Crows are involved."

"True," Aífe nodded. Grimm settled down next to her and she put a hand on his head, rubbing his ear between her fingers. "However, I know for sure it _is_ bound to Antiva City, it has cargo loaded destined for that city. Also, I was trying to get in touch with my sources to find out more and it turned out that most of them vanished into thin air. The remaining ones confirmed that somebody was asking after us and that there is a price set out on any information about us. Not just me, Alistair. Us."

He blinked in confusion, turning away from her and taking a deep breath. His fingers were drumming against his thigh and he seemed to be trying to wrap his mind around it all. She watched him closely and saw him swallowing heavily and wetting his lips.

Nelaros had pushed his blanket back and moved towards the edge of the bed. "I don't understand. How could anybody even know about us this quickly?"

Aífe sighed and shifted her weight. "Almost a whole day had gone by before we returned to the city. We did tie the guards up tightly, but I assume somebody went to check up on the situation and found them – and they could have described at least me roughly. I wore no mask when questioning them. It does not take long to return to the city and they could easily have been there long before us, asking around to find out more about me. A thorough search would have led them to know that I was asking about the children and also about you, Alistair. From there on out, it was easy for them to find out where you live. It was probably even easier to just station thugs at every entrance of the city and let them report back once anybody caught sight of me. This way, they could easily direct a group of assassins to intercept us." She had not foretold it would get this messy. Had she left right after the leaving Mikal and not returned to the city, all would probably have gone well. Well, except for the fact that she would have been oblivious to the threat – and Alistair, who might have had to face all those assassins alone.

Perhaps she should even be glad it turned out like this, making it possible to at least try to do something about all this.

"So you didn't kill them," Alistair said quietly and she looked up in surprise, unsure whom he meant. "The guards, I mean." He was looking at her, seeming somewhat satisfied with his observation.

She blinked and furrowed her brows, shrugging. "They were tied up." It would probably have been smarter to kill them nonetheless. It was not even like they had given her any information; they had just pretended to not understand a word she said – not in Fereldan, Orlesian or Antivan. Perhaps she should have killed them. She probably should have.

"Alright, but how does all that point towards the Antivan Crows? I know that I don't know much, but I thought they are a group of assassins in Antiva. How does that link to slavery and Kirkwall?", Nelaros asked and looked between her and Alistair.

The warrior had gotten very still and she was watching him closely, unsure what to expect. The gears in his head were turning and she was not sure she would like the outcome.

"They have agents in every country, probably even in every bigger city. The masters remain in Antiva, but they basically have their eyes everywhere. There is no border to the activities of the Crows," Aífe said, not looking away from Alistair.

Without looking at her, the warrior nodded. "They buy children – especially elven children. The prettier, the better. They are raised to be Crows over the years. It's easier to train them when they are young."

Aífe had a hard time hiding her surprise. Tilting her head to the side, she kept her expression even and looked him over. His shoulders were tense and he was not looking at her. He seemed… defeated, in a way. How he knew this was a mystery to her. This was new to her. It made sense, of course, in a terrible way. Still, it was not a conclusion you could just arrive at. He had said it like he knew it for a fact. Like he had inside information.

She looked him over, closely. She would put her hand in the fire for him in this regard - he was no assassin, most definitely no Antivan Crow. There was no malice in him, nothing cold or heartless. Maker, there were books harder to read than him. She was still not sure who he was, but she was absolutely sure that he was not an assassin and that he meant them no harm.

"That's horrible," Nelaros said quietly. He looked even paler now.

Not looking away from Alistair, who stood unmoving, Aífe gave one sharp nod. In fact, she had not drawn that connection and simply thought the Crows might be only hired to transport the children. Now it made far more sense why they were so on either capturing or killing her – they wanted their lost investment back… This was far worse than her original suspicions. She would have to work a lot harder from here on out.

"There was a woman in particular asking after us and putting out much coin to get information. According to my contact, she is from Antiva and heavily involved with the Crows. Of course, it is not official, but my contact says that she is the go-to-person if you want to negotiate a contract with them." Aífe curled her hand into Grimm's fur, who had perked up when the atmosphere shifted. "Then there was the assassin I brought here and interrogated. She would not tell me definitely that she is a Crow, but she did not deny it when I asked her directly. She was clearly Antivan, as was her equipment. The poison they used was very complex and only somebody very experienced and skilled could have produced it. I do not think you can purchase the like here in Kirkwall. Additionally, she told me that I anybody in my company were their targets – and that they were not the only ones who were sent."

She raised a hand and brushed a few strands of loose hair back, casting Nelaros a quick glance. He seemed even more confused, lacking quite some information, but she had to talk quick and convince Alistair.

"She was barely more than a recruit and she was scared to death. Not being able to bring us down was apparently a death sentence for her. What little she knew she told me – that a contract on us was submitted the very same day we went to the Wounded Coast, that it came from within the organization and that somebody high up is very angry and wanted a quick solution. If possible, I was to be captured alive for questioning. If not possible, I was to be killed like anybody else with me." Fortunately, it was harder to kill her than most people anticipated. Even more fortunate, however, was that Alistair had come to help them.

"All the details led to one conclusion. I had an information leak somewhere, which had already set them on their toes and hence the children were already taken to the ship when we arrived. When a certain signal was not sent, somebody came to investigate and found the bound guards, or perhaps a message was sent from the ship by bird. A bit of asking around led them on my trail and by default also on yours, Alistair."

Alistair finally turned to look at her, exhaling deeply as he shook his head ever so slightly as if he could not believe it all. "The Crows," he just said.

"The Crows," Aífe confirmed.

"And you think leaving the city is the only option?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

She tentatively shifted her weight again and nodded. "I think so, yes. We are in no position to counter them here for more than a couple of weeks at best. Eventually, it will end badly for us."

"I could simply stay put for a while," he said.

"No you could not. They would find you." She noted the way his gaze darkened.

"I could leave Kirkwall and stay put elsewhere for a while."

"They have agents in every bigger city and perhaps even smaller ones. I expect their information exchange is quick and accurate", she answered calmly. She wasn't imagining things, he was getting angrier. The way he had furrowed his brow and titled his eyebrow was telling. Also, he was glaring now. Well, she had seen worse, he would have to try a lot harder.

"I could go very far away where Crows don't matter and stay put there for a while," he said. Oh, now he was just grasping for straws. Unless he had the ability to develop gills, he would have to travel very far to reach such a place.

"Alistair," she tried to interrupt him, but he rubbed a hand over his forehead and laughed. Not a good sign, if the tilt of his mouth was any indication.

"I could go very, very far away from _you_ and stay put." He was still laughing. She took a step closer, which only made him drop his hand to his side and close the gap between them, so he could properly glare down at her. With more intensity now – so he was actually improving. Yay?

"_You_ are chaos," he accused her.

She blinked and opened her mouth to counter that argument, but he cut her off immediately.

"_You_ are pure and unfiltered chaos," he amended and shook his head again. "My life was delightfully boring until the day I met you. I was _fine_. I slept and I ate and I drank and then I slept again. I was absolutely _fine_. Then you come along and suddenly there are slavers and mages and assassins and more mages and people want my head on a platter when I thought I had left that part of my life behind me – and you know what is the worst about it?"

Keeping her expression carefully blank she shook her head tentatively and filed away the information that he was not completely unfamiliar with people wanting him dead.

"You made me like it for a moment or two, as if I had actually done something useful. I actually felt good. I was just about to enjoy that for a bit and get back to my nice and boring life - and then you come and tell me that the Antivan Crows want to kill me because I am somehow associated with you!" He shrugged, uncaring about his wound by now, and barked out a fake laugh.

Alright. He was upset. She had seen this coming and had been prepared for it. For a moment she contemplated whether she should point out to him that good was better than fine, but in the face of the fact that he was not exactly happy with her right now, she decided not to.

"I am sorry," she said instead and hoped to have hit the right nerve. He said nothing, so she figured she could at least venture a bit further. "I will set things right and then you can go wherever you want and do whatever you want. I thought about it and I have a plan."

"A plan," he repeated. Perhaps she should not have used that exact word, it sounded kind of ominous, now that she heard it from his mouth. Maybe it was the way he pronounced it? Or the quirk of his eyebrows? Yes, definitely the angry tilt of his eyebrows.

"Yes, a plan," she confirmed and braced herself. "We will go to Antiva. There I will convince the master of the Crows to cancel all contracts on us. Not only here in Kirkwall, but wherever else their agents were informed to keep an eye out for us. We eliminate the problem at its root."

The room grew very quiet, the only noise being Grimm panting as he shifted his gaze between them and finally cocked his head to the side with a whine. He leaned more weight against Aífe and she readjusted her stance, trying very hard not to make a face.

"What?" Nelaros eventually croaked out.

Alistair was less reserved in his choice of words. "Do you have bats in your brain?"

A fair question. She personally would have voted no, but there were people that would definitely have answered with a heart-felt yes. Alistair was probably among those, because it had sounded like a rather rhetorical question.

"It makes sense," she started to explain.

"Like your red boots," Alistair interrupted her in a deadpan voice.

"Even more so," Aífe answered and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "We could try to solve the problem here in Kirkwall, but I am sure that they have more money, more people and more contacts. However, as soon as we leave the city, we face the same problem yet again. We could also try to just move to another city right now, but I am pretty sure word has gotten out and they are already looking for us." She took a deep breath and gazed quickly at Nelaros, who looked rather miserable. "Eventually, they would get us through sheer advantage in numbers, no matter how good we are. Nobody can be ever-vigilant. It is only a matter of time."

"You want to go to Antiva of all places. Antiva is teeming with assassins! They definitely will have the advantage in numbers there!" Alistair breathed a faint laugh and turned away, flexing his hands and moving his lips silently, as if talking to himself.

"I noticed," she agreed and sighed. "However, the way I see it we might end up bleeding to death in some disgusting side street with a knife between our ribs any day now. The only thing that could actually and effectively eliminate this problem throughout all of Thedas is to get the contract on our heads cancelled from the very top of the chain of command."

He came to a sudden halt, making Grimm practically jump up from his sitting position. Looking at her over his shoulder, a sarcastic smile pulled at a corner of his lips.

"So you'll go and have a nice talk with the master of the Crows before or after take the other children from him and make him even angrier?" he wanted to know in an almost casual tone.

She remained quiet for a moment, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, and met his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, at least not as much of one as everybody thinks," he said and furrowed his brows. "We both know that's part of the reason why you want to go to Antiva."

Crinkling her nose, she regarded him for another moment. "It will work out," she said.

The muscles in his jaw worked as he watched her, one hand on the table as he leaned against it. His thumb was rubbing over the edge over and over again, the sound the friction made loud in the silence.

"You seem awfully sure of that," he said finally.

She smiled then – just a small smile that l up her eyes and lifted the corners of her mouth a bit. "For a year I kept my people alive during the Blight and the civil war. I led my soldiers to the final battle in Denerim and returned home with them. I slew a Darkspawn general, fought a dragon and walked away from a massacre that should have killed me." The memories tugged at her heart and pressed down on her, but she just let the smile grow. It was not a exactly a happy smile, but calm and steady. "I will fix this."

He breathed out shakily, locking eyes with her. They just looked at each other for a moment, then Alistair turned away, grabbing the bottle of wine with a shaky hand. "I need a drink."

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**Author's Comment:**  
>First of all, a huuuuuge thanks to <strong>alyssacousland<strong> for beta-reading and helping me with the expression "bats in your brain"; originally, I had used a very German proverb that literally is translated as "you are insanity's fat prey". Bats in the brain work, though, especially for Aífe. X'D I also want to thank **Eynla **for discussing the different parts of Aífe's logic to make sure that it is actually logic also for people that are not me or Aífe. Thank you of course also to everybody reading and especially those always reviewing - I'm looking at you, **Pollyanna24, EkoCentric, LadyMimzy**, **Melysande** and of course **Eynla and alyssacousland.** Thank you so much. :)  
>Then here's my little comments to this chapter, as always:<br>1) ... I really hope that Aífe's logic is logical also to other people. It is to me, albeit I am not twisted enough to actually call her solution to the Crow problem brilliant. The red boots, though, they make perfect sense to me.  
>2) The outfit including the red boots is straight from the game. I swear to you, there is this NPC running around with fugly red boots... X'D So yeah, that is where that idea came from.<br>3) I am sorry for this taking so long x.X Between starting my new job and being sick this last week, I only managed to really put this in a form that I liked now.  
>3) It took me a long time to actually like the flow of the dialogue; I also tried to characterize them through their actions and how they react, I hope that worked out well. I especially hope that Alistair is still Alistair also for you guys. I know we all have our own image of drunk!bitter!Alistair, but I still want him to stay THE Alistair.<br>4) Lastly - let me know what you liked or disliked. =) I am happy for feedback so I can improve.  
>5) ... ehehehe. Imagine me with a REALLY stupid smile. I actually managed to commission a pic of Aífe and Alistair and I just got to see the first sketch and... OMG, I am so happy! :3 I cannot WAIT to show you guys! This is so awesome! \o  
>6) Okay. This is lasty for true, I swear X'D We have reached almost 100 reviews =) and as a thank you, I would like to make a little give-away to reviewer #100 - it can be a spoiler for the future of the fic that you'd like to know, it could be a oneshot or scene you would like me to write for you or whatever else that is in my power.<p>

So, I hope you enjoyed the read. :3 The next chapter will be pretty much the last one in Kirkwall, then.. we go out into the wide world!


	18. Secrets

**Chapter 18: Secrets**

Alistair gripped the mug he had filled with wine tighter, leaning back in the chair.

Somehow, in the span of just two or perhaps three days his life had once again turned on its head and he had no control over it at all. He had no idea how it all had come down to this, when he had merely wanted to… he didn't know what he had wanted to do. He was just pretty sure it hadn't involved running from assassins, fighting slavers and least of all being part of something like this.

Well, technically he knew how and why the events had unfolded. He had gone for a walk and encountered a certain Aífe Cousland, which had been the beginning of the end. Perhaps, if he hadn't been quite so drunk back then, he'd have recognized the danger that she posed and run the other way screaming in terror. In an optimal scenario, that moment should have been sometime between being knocked down by the ballistic missile that Aífe had felt like and the moment when he had actually put on his armour to meet her at the Wounded Coast. He was reasonably sure there had been at least two instances in which he had debated turning his back on it all and walking into the sunset. It was just that he hadn't been smart enough to actually do it. He wasn't even delusional enough to think he had done it for the money, even if he didn't quite know the real reason.

He sighed. That wasn't absolutely true. He had an inkling. She had called him _honourable_. Had called him a _warrior_. And somehow that had stricken a chord with him, had made him want to be exactly that. An honourable warrior, worthy of trust. Worth _something_.

His expression hardened as he ran his thumb over the rough surface of the mug he was holding to his chest. He would simply not accept it. Any of it. She could not _make him_ do anything.

Glancing up from the mug of wine he was holding, he could see her bustling about in the room where he had slept. Frowning, he let his eyes wander over her. She didn't even look all that catastrophic, despite having put on her armour again. Being of relative average height – perhaps a bit on the small side – probably helped with the deception. Nobody ever blamed the small ones.

He found himself glaring at the back of her head as he watched her bend over the table, her weapons spread out in front of her. She took each of them in her hand, looking along the blade and allowing herself to assess it, then put them down again. It looked as natural as if she was at the market, trying to decide which new scarf to buy.

Grimm had moved alongside her, looking up at her with clear puppy adoration. The big hound was leaning against her leg, seeking body contact, and uttered a low huff when she put aside a short sword that gleamed in the candle light.

"You cannot come, I am sorry, my sweet," she murmured and chose a stiletto that she also put aside.

Alistair snorted, raising the mug to his lips. _Welcome to the club, buddy_. Apparently nobody could ever come along. Not even when they insisted on it with good reasons – such as being an additional sword and being the one actually making the whole trip necessary.

Grimm grunted in protest and pressed himself even more tightly against her, making her stumble. She had to catch herself with one hand on the table, but did not even look at the hound or chastise him. It was much the same treatment as Alistair had gotten not half an hour ago.

"I know. I would feel better if I could take you along as well, but I intend to move quick and unseen. There are very small passageways leading into Darktown, I am not even sure I myself will be able to fit through," she explained and finally dropped a hand to Grimm's head, rubbing his ear between her fingers.

The hound shook his head and dodged away from her hand, ears flattened against his skull as he averted his eyes and snorted.

"It is necessary. I promise it is the last time I venture out alone," Aífe said and chose a pair of daggers, then rolled up the oiled leathers that contained the collection of her remaining blades. Lowering her voice, she continued. "We will leave soon. I need you to stay here and defend the boys for me, alright? I need you here, so I can be sure they are safe."

Alistair felt a sarcastic smile twitch over his lips. He hadn't been safe since he met her. Lifting the mug, he gulped down the wine and reached for the bottle, giving himself a refill. He noticed that the bottle was almost empty and gritted his teeth. His fingers were itching. He wasn't even remotely feeling any effects yet.

Looking back at Aífe, he saw that Grimm had gotten up and was stalking away. The woman touched a hand to his neck and the hound stopped when she moved around him and crouched down in front of him. She touched her brow to his and ran her hands down over his neck to his sides, murmuring something. Before pulling back, she pressed a kiss to his snout.

There. Right _there_. She was doing it again. Being all nice and calm and gentle and so very, _very_ sure that there was no room for doubt of any kind. Alistair glared harder. He was so onto her, the whole small and cute act didn't fool him anymore.

She got up and when she turned, she met Alistair's eyes. Faltering, she looked at him for a moment and he couldn't help the frown that appeared on his face. Her gaze softened and she looked almost apologetic, but then she turned away and returned to the table to pick up the blades and arm herself.

Grimm, meanwhile, had walked over to Alistair and was now sitting right in front of him, just staring up at him quietly. Creepy, that.

"Yes?" Alistair asked finally and averted his eyes from Aífe.

The Mabari cocked his head to the side, sighed and etched forward until he was close enough to put a paw on his knee, whatever that gesture meant. Pet me? Feed me? Stop my lunatic mistress from being overly lunatic? Probably the latter.

"You'll have to be clearer. My doggish is a bit rusty." He drank from his wine, savouring the sweet taste that rolled over his tongue. Nelaros was still sleeping, having drifted off after Aífe had gone to change her clothes, probably still exhausted and tired after the almost fatal wound he had received – so he could get no translational help from that side.

And he wouldn't ask Aífe to translate doggish into something understandable. For reasons. Such as not intending to talk with her.

Grimm opened his mouth to pant, tongue lolling out, and uttered a sound Alistair couldn't quite identify.

"See, that could have been a burp for all I know. Words, Grimm, use them." Leaning back, Alistair gestured vaguely and was all too aware that Aífe was almost done arming herself.

With a whine Grimm put his second paw on Alistair's knee and heaved himself up, now being taller than the sitting warrior. He was still panting and whined again – and he looked dangerously close to drooling all over the mug. Quickly, Alistair lifted his hand holding the wine above Grimm's head, while the other hesitantly patted the dog.

"In case you think I've got any power over what she does, think again. Haven't you noticed anything over the course of the last days? Did that look to you like I had any say in that matter?" he murmured and refused to turn to look around when he heard Aífe walk towards them.

She was standing somewhere on his left, but he kept his eyes fixed on Grimm, who had swivelled his head to look at her.

"I will leave now," she said and Alistair nodded curtly. He had to bite his tongue to keep from offering to go with her again. She would, without a doubt, say no and give him a hundred reasons as to why. None of them valid, of course. They had been through that already.

"I expect the healers to come here this night, they promised to check up on you again. Grimm will know if it is them or somebody else knocking. I will return as fast as I can and bring more supplies if I manage to get somewhere unseen." She took a step to the side, putting herself in his field of vision.

Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes to hers and nodded again. Grimm dropped down to the ground again, looking back and forth between them.

Aífe seemed like she was about to say something, but then she closed her mouth again and nodded too, lowering her eyes. "Stay safe." Touching a hand to Grimm's head, she turned to leave.

Alistair got up and caught her by her arm, something he had not really thought through, he realized, as she stopped and looked at him. He looked away again, his eyes landing on his sword and shield.

"You really shouldn't go," he said finally and let go of her. "Not alone."

Her arm dropped to her side and she shrugged with one shoulder, almost helplessly. "I have to go alone. I can move faster on my own and hide in the shadows. All I need to do is set everything up for our departure, pick up some supplies and get your belongings from your room. I will be in and out before anybody is the wiser."

"It's just stuff. It's not important." He took a step back and away from her. He should have kept quiet when she asked if he had anything of value left in his room, but he hadn't thought she intended to go alone.

"It is important to you," she replied and he looked away. He hadn't said so, but apparently she had read it between the lines anyhow. It was bothering him, somehow, that she cared.

"It is the least I can do. We need to leave Kirkwall, the sooner the better, I cannot change anything about that. What I can do, however, is to at least make sure you do not lose anything you hold dear."

He wished he could convince her that there was nothing of value in that room, but he could not even convince himself. Hidden beneath a loose floor board he had hidden Duncan's dagger, the one he had found a lifetime ago at the ruins of Ostagar. It was the partner to the sword he had brought with him. Next to it sat a small wooden box, containing only three items. Leaving them behind... it would hurt.

None of it had any real value, at best you'd get a few silvers for the dagger. The memories, though, no matter how tainted... he could discard them no more than he could stab himself and feel no pain.

"It will be fine, I will be fast. Perhaps I will even learn some new information about the Crows, and I can set up false trails for them to follow," Aífe said when he remained quiet.

"I should come with you. It's my stuff you're risking being seen for, after all." He had little hope she would agree and he could see her point. He wasn't exactly a stealthy person and the innkeeper and most of the patrons knew him. He'd be spotted faster than a purple dog.

She simply smiled before she walked towards the door again, listening for a moment to make sure nobody was close to the door outside. "Stay safe," she said and slipped outside.

Alistair wasn't sure how much time had passed when he could feel the first whispers ghost over his skin. Slowly, the warrior got to his feet and looked at the door. The bottle of wine was empty and he wasn't feeling any better. Rather worse, if anything. The thirst had grown in the quietness of the room, his mouth too dry to bear it.

The fire had burned low and Nelaros had shifted in his sleep, pulling the blanket higher. The elf was very quiet, even when sleeping. He had barely moved at all – Alistair didn't know if it was from pure exhaustion or his general sleeping pattern.

With each moment Alistair could feel the presence of somebody else drawing closer. Like little spiders running over his skin, a slightly ticklish feeling and first and then something stronger that settled in his gut. Two presences, Grey Wardens.

He had no doubt who they were. The healers, Anders and Eynla, as Aífe had predicted. It didn't take long before Grimm jumped to his feet and hastened to the door, nose pressed against the wood as he bared his teeth. His ears were laid back and he looked menacing, but no sound escaped him.

Finally, after a long moment, the hound stepped back again and retreated. He didn't seem to be overly happy about their visitors, but at least gave Alistair enough room to open the door and let them in after a short greeting.

Anders and Eynla slipped into the little house and stood still for a moment, casting glances around. As Anders caught sight of Grimm, who backed away yet another step, something flickered over his face. After a moment he simply smiled and shrugged.

"I've always been more of a cat person," he said.

Grimm showed his teeth for a brief moment as a way of answer and Alistair shot the dog look out of the corner of his eyes.

_No kidding_.

"He won't harm you, he's just a bit grumpy at the moment. The last days have been hectic," Alistair said and hoped that it was actually true. Grimm didn't look like he was about to take any action against the mages, but he was far from being the loving little puppy he had been just hours before.

Eynla stepped closer after she had pulled her hood from her head, the silver hair now framing her pretty face. She fixed her eyes on Alistair for a moment, before she turned to look at Nelaros.

"Has he woken up since he was healed?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, he was sitting up and ate and drank with us. He seemed fine, only very tired," Alistair answered and found it easier this time to ignore the pressing feeling of their presence. Perhaps it had been the poison back then that had made them feel so hostile. Perhaps the wine just helped this time.

"He lost a lot of blood. While we mended his flesh and repaired the damage done by poison and blood loss, we can only push the body into producing more blood. We cannot generate it on our own. It will take a bit of time before he feels normal again," Anders answered in her stead. "The best medicine is to eat, drink and sleep right now."

Eynla stepped to the elf's bed and stretched out her hand, a soft light starting to play around her fingers. Nelaros had started to shift when they talked, but now grew quiet again and his breath seemed more even to Alistair now.

"What are you doing?" the warrior asked and took a step towards her. It didn't look like healing magic.

Grimm, noticing the tone of his voice, stepped closer and flattened his ears against his skull. His eyes were on Eynla, but every then and again he looked at Alistair to gauge his mood and reaction. He was probably looking for any indication on what to do – he did it with Aífe, he just looked at her and even the slightest movement of a finger could push him into action.

Alistair tried to relax, letting his hands sink to his sides. Grimm took a step back, but was still alert.

"It's a spell that deepens his sleep. There is no reason to wake him now, the longer and deeper the sleeps, the better. We can only check on him at this point and make sure he is actually recovering," Eynla explained and now extended her other hand. The light changed to a soft blue glow as she moved her hands over Nelaros' still form.

"You didn't need to put a sleep spell on him," Alistair murmured and watched her carefully.

"I didn't need to, no. But it guarantees that he will sleep deeply for at least another few hours and he needs the sleep." Eynla looked up from her patient, raising an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, it is a very light spell."

A spell a Templar could lift, she meant, but didn't say. Alistair frowned and nodded finally.

"Now, if you'd let me take a look at your wound?" Anders asked behind him and Alistair turned to look at the man. He was tall, as tall as he himself, but leaner. He didn't exactly look very mage-y, now that Alistair thought about it. Except for the staff and the feathers and the rolled up pages sticking out of one pocket. Alright, perhaps he did look like a mage upon closer inspection.

"Thank you. I feel alright, though," Alistair said. There was something off about Anders and it wasn't the taint, even though it felt weaker than it should be. Alistair couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it felt almost as if the magic within him was stronger, much stronger, than was normal. Now that they were standing close, it almost felt as if the healer was leaking magic constantly, like a vessel overflowing.

"Sure you do," Anders agreed and a grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "You're a Warden. The taint fought the poison and lessened the effect it had. The taint also helps you to withstand wounds easier and heal faster." Shifting his weight, the mage regarded Alistair. "I could still facilitate this easily, especially since it is only a flesh wound by now. Unless you have a thing for pain and self-torture. In which case, hey, I don't judge."

Alistair snorted and shook his head. "Let me guess: You're one of those funny mages."

"Only every other day, though," Anders answered and waited until Alistair had settled down on the chair with a quiet chuckle. He started to remove the bandages and Alistair could tell the exact moment when he noticed the honey: His eyebrow shot up and he leaned closer, taking a rather hesitant sniff, before raising his eyes to Alistair. "Honey?"

"Aífe said it prevents gangrene and… something about fever and soothing the skin?" It was more a question than a statement, because he did not quite recall which part the widow bark contributed. Anders raised his second eyebrow and Alistair set up straighter. "She's convincing."

"I'm sure she is," the mage murmured and finished removing the bandages. "I have read about the healing attributes of certain kinds of honey. I was wondering more why she'd think it necessary. The taint prevents gangrene and fever in all but the most severe cases, though. Treatment beyond wound cleaning was not necessary."

Alistair could feel Eynla's eyes on him and swallowed, meeting Anders' gaze. Of course it was no secret to them that he was a Grey Warden and knowing his name and where he came from, both were aware of who exactly he was. He disliked it, being so utterly exposed.

"I'm not a Grey Warden. Not anymore," he said.

"Neither am I," Anders answered. "The taint doesn't disappear, though, for better or for worse."

Not a Warden anymore? Alistair looked the mage over again, but could see nothing all that extraordinary, aside from the strange feeling of overflowing magic. But then, what did he expect? Nothing really changed, no matter how far you ran.

He remembered faintly that Eynla had remarked something like that – Anders and him leaving the Wardens, but he hadn't really registered it at the time.

He wanted to ask where Anders was from, why he had left, what he knew – and at the same time he wanted to end the conversation here and now, remove himself from this topic altogether.

"I know. Aífe doesn't know anything, though, and I'd like it to stay that way." At the same moment Alistair spoke, he realized how it sounded. Like he was lying on purpose. It wasn't lying, though, he hadn't told her any lies at all. She hadn't asked.

"Lady Cousland doesn't know who you are?" Eynla seemed suddenly interested. Alistair didn't turn to look at her, he kept his eyes on Anders, who slowly extended his hand. His fingers almost touched the skin close to the still open wound, but only almost. Blue light seemed to seep out of the mage's palm in waves that rolled over Alistair's skin. The magic felt like a cool breeze and with it, any feeling of itch or pain was gone.

"No," the warrior finally answered curtly.

"Interesting," Eynla commented and Alistair shot her an annoyed glance. What was so damn interesting about somebody _not_ knowing about his rotten family for a change? They were dead anyhow, all of them. He was the last of nothing. So really, nothing to know there, except that he was a well known mistake.

"The rebel Cousland and the last of the Theirins. Now that sounds like a story," she added after a moment.

It took him a moment to realize the implication. Aífe had led a rebellion against the self-proclaimed regent Loghain and his right-hand-man, Howe, even if she hadn't officially joined the Civil War. What was more, some people had idolized her and her troops for defying Loghain. She was for sure not a favourite with Loghain's daughter, the Queen of Ferelden at the moment – especially not because as a Cousland, Aífe doubtlessly enjoyed the support of more than just a few nobles. Would the queen know, though, that she travelled in Alistair's presence on top of it all… well… It looked bad. It looked like it was no coincidence.

Alistair gritted his teeth, his eyes pressed closed. He had not thought of that at all until now. The bastard prince and the rebel leader of the Coastlands. It all came down to the one thing again: His bloodline.

He didn't want the throne. He wouldn't take it and if it were offered with promises of happiness and peace and joy, he'd still not take it because he'd know it was a lie. Not that the queen would believe him for a second.

"Aífe knows nothing," he said when he had managed to push his thoughts aside. "I didn't know who she was until after we had worked together and frankly, I hadn't wasted a thought on it until now." He buried a hand in his hair, raking his fingers over his scalp. "There is no story, you can just as well stop digging. No plans, no coups, no nothing."

Anders was watching him quietly, hand still extended, and his eyes darkened.

"Leave it be, Eynla. You see demons when it's just shadows flickering in the candlelight. Sometimes life isn't easy. Sometimes things happen," the mage said. There was wistfulness in his tone, as he lowered his eyes and shook his head slightly.

Eynla snorted, withdrawing her magic from Nelaros and regarding the two men. "You're telling _me_ that?"

Anders looked up, giving her a sharp glance, and something transpired between the two of them. What, Alistair could not quite say. The tension between them was back again and he wasn't sure whether it was caused by what had been said or rather by what hadn't been said.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything slip," Anders then said and returned his attention to Alistair. The magic stopped flowing and the mage let his hand drop back to his side, the pleasant cool feeling on Alistair's skin gone almost the very same moment.

"Secrets like these inevitably come to light and by then the consequences are far worse than they would have been at first." Eynla had crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"And here I was, thinking you are simply a Warden mage and not one of the Rivaini seers," Alistair said and found it hard not to snap at her. He wanted to leave the conversation and the room altogether. He wanted a sip of whiskey, or better yet two.

"I sealed your wound and healed the damage done to the tissue. It was only minor at this point and you should have full function of your shoulder already – except for a bit of pinching here and there, where the skin is still tight, you're good as new," Anders said and thereby totally changed the course of the conversation. He clasped Alistair's shoulder and squeezed it in a quick gesture, then turned and nodded at Nelaros.

Only slowly Eynla averted her eyes from them and looked at the still form of the elf.

"The damage to the tissue has been repaired. His blood levels are still low, but his organs are fully functional and no traces of the poison are left. I recommend lots of sleep and liquids, he should not exhaust himself within the next weeks, if possible. He'll sleep for a few more hours yet, then he'll hopefully feel hungry."

"Thank you for your help," Alistair said and got up again, throwing Anders a thankful look that elicited a small smile from the mage.

"Aífe more than repaid me for it, immensely so. I feel almost like I need to heal you till you are shining with health the tip of your toes to the top of your head." Anders chuckled quietly. "In fact, I meant to ask… does she require any healing? I only got a quick luck at her when she came to get me at the clinic and healed only the most obvious injury."

Alistair did not have time to answer, because Grimm shot out from his corner and pawed at the door, whining as he danced around. At this point the warrior didn't even wonder anymore when a quiet knock resounded and Aífe slipped in not a moment later.

She stopped in her tracks for a moment, regarding the mages, and blinked in surprise, but then a smile appeared on her face as she regarded Alistair.

"Fit as a fiddle?" she asked him after greeting the mages and rolled his shoulder as way of answer.

Not wasting anytime, she asked about Nelaros and listened to their explanations, nodding, as she came closer and at the same tried not to stumble over her war hound. She frowned when Eynla mentioned the sleeping spell, but said nothing. When Anders asked to see her injuries, she waved him off, claiming that she had nothing more than a few bruises and those would be healed within hours once she drank another poultice.

Just as they were about to leave and Eynla was already slipping her hood over her head, Anders stopped as if he had suddenly remembered something.

"I wanted to let you know that you could ask a friend of mine to escort you out of the city. Don't worry, he doesn't expect coin, he has quite enough of that at the moment – and he'd for sure do it as a favour to me." He leaned on his staff and gestured towards the door. "He is not very far from here, in fact, we could find him at the Hanged Man."

Alistair looked from him to Eynla, who seemed slightly amused. Somehow, he almost expected her to say something any moment. Something such as – _Hey, fun fact of the day: You are in the company of the bastard prince, disgraced traitor, unbelievable idiot, yadda yadda yadda_. She didn't, though, she simply watched Aífe.

Aífe cocked her head to the side and tentatively asked: "Who is your friend?"

"His name is Hawke. He's a very capable… warrior," Anders answered after a short pause.

Aífe's reaction was immediate. She lifted a hand, quickly waving the idea off with a quite determined head-shake.

"_The_ Hawke? Oh, no. No, no, no. Absolutely not. It is indeed very nice of you to offer and I thank you, but we will not require any help," she said, her hand continuing the waving away motion.

"Are you sure?" Anders asked dubiously, resulting in a nod that could dislocate a vertebrae or two in the near future if Aífe didn't drastically decrease the movement angle.

"Very sure. I honestly speak with the utmost respect for Ser Hawke, but I am planning to leave the city unseen. Quite frankly, I think the chances of leaving unseen in the company of a purple, three-legged dog spitting rainbows would be remarkably higher than doing so in the company of one Garret Hawke, widely known by anyone and their grandmother. I am serious. I just passed a group of elderly women, gushing about that dashing young mage-boy who is now living in Hightown and was kind enough to return a lost scarf to one of them." She even tried to smile apologetically, and it looked quite convincing, except for the little twitch around her corners of her mouth that betrayed her.

It took a moment, but then Anders burst out into laughter. He leaned on his staff, seesawing on his heels, trying to calm down.

"Oh, I can't wait until Varric hears that one," he chuckled to himself.

Alistair couldn't help but join in, laughing quietly to himself. Comparing Hawke to a purple, rainbow-spitting dog was perhaps a bit drastic but kind of understandable. Everybody in Kirkwall did know Hawke after he returned from the Deep Roads expedition and used the money to buy back the old family estate, thus making the family name honourable once again. Plus, pretty much every citizen had seen him fling a fireball at least once by now. How all those thugs were still stupid enough to attack him on the open street was truly a mystery.

"It's quite true, though. My cousin isn't subtle," Eynla said with an amused smile.

"Thank you for the offer, though," Aífe was quick to appease Anders, even though Alistair didn't think it necessary. The mages didn't seem offended.

"You'll leave Kirkwall soon, then?" Eynla asked and cast a worried glance at Nelaros.

Aífe nodded. "Yes, we will have to. We are expected in Starkhaven very soon."

"Alright. Try to take it easy on your friend, he needs rest and I wouldn't suggest letting him walk all day long. It will increase the time it takes for him to recover fully drastically," Eynla stated and Aífe once again nodded.

"I will take good care of him, do not worry. Once out of the city, we can travel by carriage or go only as far as Nelaros can manage." Aífe cast her friend a tender glance and smiled at the mages.

They said their good-byes and Alistair stepped back, watching the three of them as they talked on the way to the door. He could see Eynla looking Aífe over carefully, as if trying to make sense of something. Swallowing, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He felt suddenly cold. His mouth was dry. Instinctively he reached for the mug and only when he had lifted it halfway to his mouth he realized that it had been empty for quite a while already.

The mages left and Aífe turned to him with a halting smile. He had a hard time smiling back. She had no idea what she was getting into. The question was… did he?

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**Author's Comment:  
><strong>*looking around* Holy nectarine, this has been putting on cobwebs. o_o I am really, really sorry for the long wait. Work, private stress and the unwillingness of a certain mage to cooperate have made this chapter really hard to write for me. I am curious to see how you like it, since I am on the edge about it. Some aspects turned out really well, I think, other things... I'm not so sure about.  
>I will try to upload the next chapter much, much faster. I'm finally leaving Kirkwall and can concentrate on my rat pack of four. :)<br>A huge thanks goes to **alyssacousland** for pointing out quite a few mistakes and saving myself the embarassment, and also for her moral support with Anders. And as always, a big thank you to **Eynla** for her honest opinion on the bits and pieces of this chapters. :) Thanks of course also to all you lovely people who review: **Marvey4, Graymalkyn, ****LadyMimzy, Pollyanna24, ****EkoCentric**, **Melysande.** Your support needs a lot and whenever I feel like I'm unable to continue, I check out your feedback and push myself forward. :) Thanks also to those quiet followers out there, I hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)  
>A few last remarks:<br>1) I feel cheap for silencing Nelaros in this way, but he IS still in a condition that will set him back for a bit. Also, the conversation between the three Wardens was really important to me. Sorry, Nel. ._. I promise you get more screentime soon.  
>2) Anders was very difficult for me to write - this is between ActI and ActII of DA2, so I imagined that Anders still has traces of his old personality left, but Justice is already taking his toll and the moments of wittiness are not all that abundant at this point. At the same time, I think he'd feel a certain kinship with Alistair - being lost in a way, and running away. Not that Anders can do that anymore, or wants to. I hope I was able to portray him well enough, especially for you avid Anders fans out there. :)<br>3) Grimm doesn't like things that don't belong in this world. Such as demons. And spirits. Especially the kind that takes over people and likes the colour blue.  
>4) Anora'll throw a fit when she finds out for all the wrong reasons. As will Loghain, probably. Fergus will just facepalm.<br>5) HAH. MWHAAHAHAHA. GOOD-BYE KIRKWALL, DREARY OLD POOPBROWN KIRKWALL. This is officially the last chapter set there. \o/ That makes me so happy. Next up: Cranky old ladies. Cake. And Alistair can't help himself. :D  
>6) *squints at counter* Soon.<p> 


	19. Night

**Chapter 19: Night**

They left Kirkwall the very same night. No sooner were the mages gone than Aífe started to buzz around – with some difficulty she managed to squeeze everything into just three packs, her weapons included.

Not allowing them more than an hour after Nelaros finally woke to eat and get ready, they left in the middle of the night. To Alistair's surprise they did not head towards the city gates, but instead walked along the docks until they reached a small rowing boat that had undoubtedly seen better times. In it they rowed to a small bay east of Kirkwall, where they left the boat behind and travelled on foot further north-east, entering the woods – Aífe had set it all up before, wishing to evade watchful eyes.

The dim light of stars and moon barely broke through the dense tree tops and until Aífe found a deer trail it was hard to keep a steady pace. Grimm was trotting ahead of her, leading the way, and she studied the path carefully to make sure she would not fall over a root or bang her head on a branch. Not that it helped her escape that fate completely, she thought, rubbing her head.

The night was quiet, except for the hooting of an owl not too far away. It sounded dismayed, if hoots went that far in expression, probably because they were scaring away all the mice and rats with their approach. Aside from a few instructions she had given as they left the city, they had not talked much at all that night. It could have been pure exhaustion or a fear of being already followed, but it felt like there was more to it.

Aífe was beginning to feel uncomfortable. No, scratch that. Uncomfortable was too soft a word for the situation. She was feeling like she needed to slip into the shadows and quietly bang her head against a tree until the thoughts stopped piling up on top of each other until they all but pounded against the last little area of sanity she had preserved over the years.

She was all too aware of the men behind her – Nelaros's uneven breathing, off somewhere to the left behind her and the sound Alistair's armoured boots made on the thin trail. What really got to her, though, was the glare directed at her. She could feel it. Given a few more hours, she was sure Alistair would manage to burn a hole into the back of her head by sheer willpower alone.

When they left the city, he had quietly plucked the heaviest pack from her hands to sling over his shoulders without giving her any chance to protest and had not spoken since then. At first she had been thankful, as it had given her the chance to fully focus her attention on their surroundings to make sure they weren't followed, but now… now it was starting to gnaw on her nerves. She could deal with silence, mostly even embraced it. This, though… this felt sullen.

An hour ago or so she had tried to bring up a conversation, but only Nelaros had answered her and eventually, she had stopped talking, knowing that the elf needed to conserve his energy.

Just then she heard somebody behind her stumble and from the direction of the sounds and the heavy grunt, she guessed it could only be Alistair.

"Are you alright?" she ventured to ask.

As expected, she was greeted by silence. Aífe fought the urge to turn around and face him then and there. She could feel his eyes on her with every step, felt the icy quietness as they slowly made their way through the forest. Little needles digging into her skin, an itch she could not scratch.

The path was narrow and it slowed them down. Even if it hid them from searching eyes and dampened the sound of their steps, she was starting to wish she had chosen one of the roads not all that far off, it would have allowed them to walk faster. It would have allowed her to escape the oppressing silence a bit sooner.

For a moment she wondered whether she should once again scout ahead - not for very long, just to be able to breath and order her thoughts. Just as she was about to let them know of her plans, her eyes fell on Nelaros, bracing himself on a branch to step over a large root. His face looked clammy, strands of hair sticking to his pale skin.

Aífe bit her lip and came to a stop, eyes darting from him to Alistair. The warrior simply looked at her, eyes unwavering and dark. He looked tight-lipped, his furrowed eyebrows completing the frown he had been wearing since they had left the city. It would have been easier to face him if she hadn't know that she deserved the anger. Quickly averting her eyes again, she made a big show of stretching her arms over her head, groaning.

"I think I might need a short rest," she let them know and set her pack down.

Grimm was at her side instantly, sniffing first her hands and then the pack. When he realized it contained no food, he instead sat down and scratched his ear.

Nelaros came to stand next to her, a mild smile on his face as he regarded her. "I'm fine, we don't need to stop here. I can keep going."

Looking at him, she came to the conclusion that he might have said the very same thing with two broken legs, a missing eye and a slightly punctured lung, just so as not to inconvenience anybody. She gave him a deadpan look and then let herself drop to the ground next to the Mabari, digging through her pack for a water skin, which she held out to the elf. He took it wordlessly and sighed before lifting it to his lips.

"I, however, am not as fine and I think I need to rest my feet for a few minutes. Settle down, Nelaros, stretch your legs. Drink it all, I have another one in my pack and we will reach the village soon." She stroked Grimm's head, when he bedded it in her lap. Eventually, she mustered enough resolve to turn to Alistair.

"You too, Alistair. There is also still jerky left, if you feel a bit peckish," she said.

Even though he set down his pack then, he did not sit and only rolled his shoulders to reduce the tension in his muscles, gazing into the dark forest. He looked annoyed, even though she had tried to give him space to adjust and come to terms with it all. He either contained his enthusiasm supremely well or was considering to throw her off the next best cliff. Luckily, there were few cliffs in the forest – and she would simply steer clear of ledges and fissures of any kind.

"I'm not hungry, thank you," Alistair said with a low rumble in his voice.

He had probably tried to sound neutral, she thought, but had been unable to. She could see the muscles twitch in his jaw. His mood seemed to worsen – back in Kirkwall he had been in denial and had numbly taken cognizance of the current state. It had allowed her to pummel him into joining them for the moment without too much resistance on his part. Now he was slowly slithering into anger, if the silent treatment and glares were any indication. She faintly wondered when bargaining would start and what he was willing to offer to get out and away from all this. And by this she meant mainly herself. Probably something big, really big. Like a cow. Or a horse. Or the odd sacrificial drake.

"You want to rest at the village?" Nelaros asked quietly, giving her a welcome chance to focus her attention on something else. He settled down next to her, wincing as he lowered himself carefully.

"I reckon the village is a little under an hour from here, we should get there just after sunrise. There is no inn, though, and I am still not feeling overly confident that we escaped unnoticed. I would rather simply pick up our horses and travel east for another two hours, then we could make camp away from the streets and rest during the day. It makes it harder to surprise us at camp," she explained and looked him over carefully.

Nelaros rubbed the tip of his ear absentmindedly, nodding. Without thinking she stretched out her hand and squeezed his shoulder, offering him a smile.

"I would also not be opposed to making camp somewhere close to here. I am certainly tired enough to sleep just about anywhere, even in a dragon's lair, if it is just dry enough and I have enough space to roll out my blankets," she suggested.

Nelaros shook his head quickly, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. "You don't need to change your plan just because of me. I'm a bit tired, but I will manage a few more miles. I'll tell you when it gets too exhausting, I promise."

She knew it to be a lie – he would only speak up at the very last moment, when he was already on the verge of collapse. Had she not mentioned her plan, perhaps he would have agreed to camp here, but as it was… Worrying her lip, she looked past him along the narrow trail. It was unlikely they would find a good spot here, especially to light a fire in the dense undergrowth would pose a problem.

What was more – they indeed did not have any fresh supplies, the time had simply not been enough to procure them and she had not wanted to risk visiting the market in Kirkwall again. She had only bought what was absolutely necessary and now there were only a few bites left and everybody was too polite to actually eat them. Especially Alistair had seemed to be still hungry. Her gaze lingered on him until he turned to look at her, his eyes boring into hers. Stubbornly refusing to look away, she braced her arms on her knees.

They remained like that for a long moment – a painful moment, if she was to be honest, but there was a part of her that refused to bend her head and step down. She would not back down, not like this.

It was Nelaros who broke the silence when he got up again and cleared his throat audibly. He had recovered a bit of colour, but she was still not sure it would be wise to force him to march yet another hour. He took that decision off her shoulder when he offered her a reassuring smile, grabbed his bag and started to follow the path again.

"We'll be faster once we have the horses – and if we collect them before noon you won't have to pay for another day," he reasoned.

Aífe quirked and eyebrow at him, quick to get up and fasten her pack again. As if one day more or less of payment would be of any importance at this point. She heard Alistair sigh behind her and then the barely audible sound of armour plates scratching over each other as he started to follow the elf.

It took them indeed not much more than another hour to reach the small village on the outskirts of the forest and Aífe left them in the safety of the slowly dwindling shadows as she went down to collect the horses.

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Aífe eased herself into the cold water, releasing her held-in breath loudly before she dipped her head under completely. Even a little hesitation and she would scream like a little girl and leave the water as fast as she could. The little lake was cold – the sun had only just risen above the horizon an hour or two ago and barely any sunrays had touched it since then, hidden between the trees as it was.

She came back up and leaned her head back, taking in a deep breath as she opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. Exhaustion was gnawing on her, but the water felt good. It rinsed away the blood and sweat from her skin and left it fresh and clean. The process was almost meditative – her fingers rubbing over sore muscles, assessing and judging how she had gotten out of the last few fights. There were still a few raw spots and more than just one bruise, but another couple of health poultices would cure that. She had not dared to drink them before they made camp, they always made her so very sleepy and for sure she would not have been able to stay awake then.

A smile pulled on her lips as she scrubbed her body with the scented soap she had brought along, removing dirt and stink equally. She took her sweet time, despite the goose bumps that were trailing along her skin, and only after she had washed her hair and could not ignore the shivers any more did she leave the water with reluctance.

Grimm immediately got up and stretched himself with a yawn. He had stayed far away from the water, unwilling to poke even a toe into it. His dark eyes rested on her as she dried herself and wrapped in a clean, long tunic that almost reached her knees, fastening it with a broad belt.

"Sure you do not need a bath yourself, my sweet?" she cooed at him, scratching him beneath the chin.

His stumpy little tail wagged lazily as he regarded her and uttered a sound not entirely unsimilar to a sneeze. His way of decidedly declining suggestion.

"You, Ser, are a sissy," his mistress murmured and shook her head, letting her hand glide to his ear to rub it between her fingers, before she got up again and collected her clothes. From the smell of them, she should probably burn or bury them. Or burn and then bury them.

Too much time had elapsed since she had been able to afford the luxury of a bath – even one like this, just quickly jumping into a lake. Up until now she had still tasted the salt of the sea on her skin and had been unable to remove all traces of blood from beneath her fingernails.

By the time she had pulled on a fresh pair of buckskin breeches and slipped into her boots, reality imposed itself on her again. Her movements slowed and she stilled for a moment, looking ahead through the trees towards where the camp should be just a few dozen meters away.

She could go to bed and finally close her eyes to sleep. In the last hour she had almost nodded off once, sitting on her horse's broad back. The only reason she had not dipped over and slid off the horse had been the fact that the gentle gelding had neighed upon feeling the sudden shift in weight. How long till a full night's sleep? A week, give or take a few days.

Sleep would be the easy option, the one that would feel good at first, oh so very good. Not even the cold water had managed to fully clear her mind of the foggy feeling. If she stood around and contemplated her options for too long, she would probably fall asleep right here and now. Chances were she would not even wake up when she fell over and landed flat on her face.

That option was tempting. Very tempting.

Except that there was that part of her that refused to flee into her bedroll and avoid the confrontation that she knew she would have to have sooner or later. It had been brewing the whole night. A few years ago she would have undoubtedly done exactly that – wait till the matter resolved itself or until somebody else solved it. That behaviour was a luxury she had not been able to afford in the last two years and she did not plan to revive to that habit.

Only when Grimm huffed quietly at her side did she realize that she had stopped, caught up in her thoughts, with her brush stuck in her hair.

"I should talk to him," she murmured and sighed.

The Mabari cocked his head to the side and whined quizzically.

"Alistair, I mean."

A conversational bark, then Grimm trotted ahead towards the camp.

"I do not even know what to say. What does one say in such a situation? Pardon me for dragging you into mortal danger? Also, I severely apologize for that bit of poison in your blood and the fact that you not only could have died, but also had to risk your life for us. Pity you did not run fast enough away from me when you had the chance. On the plus side, there is an extra bed roll I can offer you along with the sparkling personality that I am. Just try not to get caught by the occasional fire ball or deadly arrow – oh, and when you see an angry Tevinter magister running at you, never mind, he rarely manages to create a full-blown storm," she muttered, following him. Absentmindedly brushing her hair, she did not notice the hound stopping and almost stumbled over him, catching herself on his back in the very last moment.

He was giving her _the look_. Dark eyes fixed on her and eyebrows quirked that he should not have in the first place because he was a dog and since when where they supposed to be able to look so judgemental?

"What? There is absolutely nothing I could tell him to make this any better. He does not wish to return to Ferelden and the one single positive aspect of all this for him is that the chances of a painful death are ever so slightly smaller in a group than on his own. All he has from this are disadvantages, problems and danger," Aífe defended herself.

Grimm tilted his head to the side and let his tongue loll out. She contemplated her last words and then hung her head.

"Giving it more thought, I have to correct myself. The probability of a slow and painful death probably has risen even more for him. After all, I have not yet had an encounter with a narcissistic and slightly megalomaniac Tevinter magister this here lovely month and I am pretty sure we can also count on the one or other venomous giant spider of doom trying to eat us while we sleep." She was not entirely sure who was more disturbed by the overly sweet smile that accompanied her words. Probably Grimm. He blinked slowly, rolling his tongue back in.

Silly dog. He should know her antics my now. And her slightly malfunctioning brain.

"It is all a mess. I am a mess." She let her hand drop to her side and looked at the hound, taking another deep breath. Lowering her eyes, she slid her fingers into the folds of the old tunic she had stripped out off earlier. She could feel the rough paper of the envelope under her fingers, strangely calming. The movement with which she pulled it out was almost tender, her thumb rubbing over it again and again.

Without further care she dropped the dirty clothes and her brush and turned the paper around, so she could see her name written in carefully drafted letters. Just that made her feel warm inside, the tilt of the _i_ and the little _e_ that was a bit too long at the end. She knew that Fergus had taken special care when writing her name – he had terrible handwriting and always plastered the letters too close together. What really caught her eye was the red seal, still unbroken. The laurel wreath, resembling two wings, was pressed into the wax, her family's heraldry.

She would not open it. Not yet.

Suddenly she could feel the Mabari's weight settle against her hip, his head rubbing against her as he shifted and whined. His teeth closed softly around her pinky, nibbling on it in something akin to a caress.

Lowering her eyes she met Grimm's gaze. "Alright. Let us return to camp."

She tucked the envelope away under her belt, ever careful, and then started to walk back towards the camp slowly. Through the trees she could see the fire blazing and the lone figure of Alistair sitting with his broad back towards her.

Taking a deep breath she steeled herself. Onwards, into battle.

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**Author's Comment:**

Soooo... This has taken forever and I am terribly sorry for that. =( Between work and especially private life as of late, I had hardly any time left to write and then there was the big problem - I knew where I wanted to go, but I felt like the way I started it all just did not work. It was too fast and without transition and I have this whole scene in my head to which I want to get. So what you see here is some sort of transition - a bit of inner working, a bit of atmosphere (I hope) and some necessary set-ups for the following chapter to work.  
>Which is why the cranky old lady AND the cake have been transferred to the next chapter - which will be from Alistair's POV again.<br>I also know that I still need to go back and correct some mistakes that were pointed out to me - for which I am VERY VERY grateful, honestly. =) I just need to really sit down one evening and go over it all, so I have the updated and corrected version of all this online.  
>Lastly, I want to thank all of you who are still with this story - especially <strong>Eynla<strong>, who once again convinced me that this chapter is actually worth uploading, and also **Pollyanna24**, I can honestly say that your message was one of the big reasons to really sit down and go on and get over that writer's block! I also want to thank my awesome reviewers and those people that let me talk to them about this little story here - **ErrantKnight, EkoCentric, lynn-writer, Graymalkyn, anesor, Marvey4, Melysande, alyssacousland, Hr'awkryn** - and all of you who put this into their favourites and follow it.  
>The next chapter will hopefully be up within the month, as parts are already written. =) And corrected chapters should be uploaded throughout the weeks whenever I find time.<br>Also - something I wanted to show you all... there is a little commission of Aífe that the beyond-awesome artist Smilika on DA did for me, showing Aífe during the Battle of Denerim. If you want to check it out, just look it up on my profile, it is linked there. =)  
>Thanks to all of you!<br>P.S.: Sorry for any typos and mistakes in here, my native-speaker-beta is currently sick, so she could not look over this. As always, I'd be thankful to anybody who'd point them out to me so I can correct them!


	20. Embers

**Chapter 20: Embers**

The night had left them completely now and Alistair didn't like it. The camp was dipped into morning light and the darkness receded into the forest, deeper and deeper. Usually light would bring some sort of relief – would ease the heart with the danger of the deep, dark night gone.

It didn't now, though. Thinking about it, it hadn't for a long time. Only now was worse, because he was wide awake and sitting in the middle of a camp, staring at a dying fire, and he was _sober_. Completely freaking sober. No sleep to escape to.

There was nothing between him and reality and it made one thing absolutely clear: He had had a reason to drink. It did make things easier. So much easier. For one, he could actually live with himself – or at least he didn't think too much and that was in some way equally acceptable.

Alistair took a deep breath, closed his eyes and fought down the mild feeling of panic.

He would guess that now would be the time to run, his last chance to escape before being drawn into something he was not ready to be a part of. However, there was nowhere to run and he was painfully, achingly aware of that. No place and no person. Not a single one.

He was a drunken bastard, exiled and forgotten. Probably served him right. Didn't it?

"She hadn't planned on it," Nelaros suddenly murmured and Alistair almost jumped out of his skin, taken completely by surprise. The elf had been quiet for a while now, massaging his own hands and shoulders as best as he could. Reluctantly Alistair threw him a side glance.

"To get you involved, I mean. Originally we just needed another person to actually have a good chance against the slavers and after that we would not have bothered you again. She didn't want to recruit you, even after we knew you're a skilled warrior and that you'd be great help. She didn't want to get you into danger. None of us wants that. I'm sorry it turned out like this for you."

Alistair bit back a dry laugh that was forcing its way to the surface from somewhere deep within, his eyes sliding back to the dying fire. It was holding onto the last logs of wood, desperately gnawing on them to survive just a little longer.

"I'll not lie, though. I'll not say that I'm sorry that we met you." Nelaros also turned to face the fire, the red shine painting patterns on his still too pale skin. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have grown in intensity throughout the last hours.

Alistair looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. He savoured the feeling of bitter anger rising in his chest, relished it. It was so much easier to do that than to try and figure out what that other feeling was. Much easier.

"I think you helped us save those children," the elf continued quietly. "And I think you helped save our lives. For that, I'm grateful." He turned to look at the warrior, his vivid green eyes intense as he spoke.

Alistair took a shaky breath and squared his shoulders, turned away just a tiny bit more. He tried to let the words slide off, but found that he couldn't. They were tearing at the bubble of anger and it was… scary, for a lack of better word.

"I'm grateful you were there and I'm grateful that you will be with us a while longer. I know it isn't fair to you and it isn't what you had planned and for that, I want to say that I'd wish you a better fate. I still cannot see it as a bad thing, though. You being here means we'll be stronger, safer."

The elf didn't realize that he didn't need any thanks, what he needed was to be alone. What he needed was – something. Anything. He didn't know. Not this, though, definitely not this.

A bottle of wine. Yes. That. His hands were trembling.

"I'm sorry, I realize it's really selfish to say all this. There's little good to come out of this for you and you have little reason to join us." The elf fell quiet for a moment and then crouched down, hand on the ground to stabilize himself. He took a deep breath and let it out again in a shudder. "I'm not sure how much any of what we told you means to you and perhaps it doesn't concern you at all and that'd be okay – it's not your people, I know that, and you've probably seen many bad things back in Ferelden… It's just that this is important. Those lives are important. They are family, friends. They are…" Nelaros paused and blinked, lost for words.

Then, suddenly, he turned to face Alistair and their gazes met.

"They are what we've been fighting for all along. Freedom, safety, justice."

It sounded familiar. Romantic, idealistic.

It sounded ridiculous.

"I'd be ready to give my life if it meant getting them all back and keeping everybody safe. But that might not be enough and that scares me. "

The warrior turned his head fully, looked at the elf who was crouching there like a statue, unmoving. His bright green eyes were directed towards the fire and yet somehow where looking at something much further away.

A thousand things came to mind and yet there was nothing to be said. Alistair knew the feeling all too well, the urge to keep your friends as safe as possible, because they were the single most precious thing you had and because you could not possibly live without them. Except that eventually, it turned out that you could. He was still alive after all, wasn't he?

"So, for that, I'm grateful that you're with us now," Nelaros said and Alistair looked away again, wetting his dry lips.

This hadn't been the idea, not at all. He wasn't part of anything. He wasn't _with_ anybody. He was just… he wasn't sure what he was. Running away yet again. Floating in the wind like a leaf. Accepting fate? He braced his hands on his knees, ready to push himself upright. Ready to flee.

"For what it's worth, I'll have your back, Alistair," the damned elf said then had the nerve to smile.

Alistair's breath caught and he stilled, his fingers digging into his thighs. He hadn't been prepared for this. Blindly he grabbed the waterskin sitting next to him, and opened it quickly, taking big gulps. The water was completely tasteless. It saved him from answering right away, though.

Finally, after a long silence that Nelaros didn't seem to mind overly much, he took a deep breath. His eyes were fixed on the fire yet again. "Just try to not do that bit with the self-sacrifice. I've heard saving the world is remarkably more difficult once you're dead. Plus, if you're too close to Orlais they might dress you in one of those ridiculous suits for the funeral. Very unstylish."

Nelaros uttered a quiet chuckle and got up slowly, clapping a hand on Alistair's shoulder. The touch felt warm.

"I'll try," he promised with a smile. "I'll try to sleep for a bit now, but please wake me when you grow tired. I can take over watch then."

"Don't worry about that," Alistair murmured, watching the elf nod and retreat to his tent. There was only one tent, barely enough to fit two people – it had been with the horses, with few other things that indicated that they had been travelling lightly and fast. To Alistair's big surprise, Aífe had agreed when he had asked to take first watch and had left to wash up soon after they had had breakfast all together. Either she was way too tired by now to be worried about his intentions or… she kind of trusted him.

Or, as was his primary suspicion, she was just plain crazy.

Whichever it was, it was fine with him. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep now. Talking to Nelaros had only made it worse, his head was spinning – and aching. _Probably not used to so much thinking._

As he sat there, his gaze fell on the pack sitting next to him. It contained the few belongings he had left, the ones Aífe had picked up at his old room. He still wondered if he should have left them behind in Kirkwall. His gaze drifted back to the waterskin and he lifted it to his lips, emptying it with big gulps, but his mouth still felt dry. Slowly he reached out and buried his hand in the pack and after a few moments his fingers touched the rough surface of the small wooden box. His heart sank.

Suddenly he heard movements from between the trees – rustling leaves and the breaking of small branches. His hand closed around his sword's hilt, easily within reach lying next to him. Before he had a chance to stand up or worry about who could be approaching, he heard Aífe's voice before he saw her.

"No worries," she said, "Two approaching camp."

Remaining on his haunches he could see Grimm appear from behind a thick oak, nose to the ground as he was tracking a particularly interesting scent. Close behind came Aífe, a pack of clothes under her arm. She looked somehow different, he thought, and allowed his gaze to linger just a moment longer. Her hair was wet and falling down over the shoulders, the water soaking into the tunic she was wearing. That wasn't it, though. Frowning, his eyes skimmed over her and the next instant he hastily averted his eyes, focusing on the campfire again.

She was suddenly… curvier. That was it. It was logical, of course, she had probably worn breast bindings before and with the additional effect of the armour it had looked as though - well. Now, after washing up… she hadn't put either of them back on. Which explained the change in silhouette and the way the tunic looked a bit tight around her general chest area. Which was nothing to think about in this much detail. In all actuality, putting so much thought into it was rather creepy. Which was why he'd have to stop now. Or, alternatively, bang his head against a stone until that made him stop.

Alistair lifted the waterskin to his lips and opened his mouth, but only a few droplets fell onto his tongue. _Riiiight._ Empty.

"The water is nice. If you have changed your mind about taking a bath, I could lend you my soap," Aífe spoke to him as she passed by towards her pack, where she dropped the clothes. Grimm huffed at the words and then made a sound that sounded like a sneeze.

"Hush. You have not even tried going in, so your opinion does not count. I say it was refreshing." The hound's mistress looked up quickly, shooting her dog a glare, before she returned her attention to her pack into which she indiscriminately stuffed fabric and utensils alike. Only the parts of her armour she put aside with more care.

Alistair was pretty sure no matter if Grimm had tried the water or not, they probably shared one opinion. It was too early for a bath. Both in the day and in the year. It was probably freezing – there was no way he'd so much as dip a toe in it. He shook his head in a negative when her eyes landed on him and thankfully, she didn't pursue the topic.

Instead she stretched and walked over to the two horses they had picked up in a little village roughly two hours from their current camp. By now, Alistair had gotten used to them to some extent, but it didn't make him wonder any less.

They probably fit her well enough. If he asked, he was sure she'd have some sort of twisted logic to explain it all. He hadn't asked, though, and he wouldn't. Fingers still closed around the waterskin he watched her out of the corner of his eyes.

She approached the horse she and Nelaros had ridden – what had she called it earlier? Plougher? Something such. Which was absolutely fitting, because the horse was a giant. The gelding was big in all dimensions, his shoulders reached almost to the top of Aífe's head and he had a wide chest and strong feet. It was obviously a horse bred for hard work. His dark fur showed some old wounds here and there – marks on his back or hindquarters where a whip might have nicked the skin too deep. Despite this the gelding had the disposition of a lamb. He had waited patiently while both Nelaros and then Aífe had climbed onto his back and had trotted along at an ambient pace as if nothing could dampen his spirits.

As she gently stroked his white nose, she stayed clear of the other horse – a white mare that looked much smaller than she actually was next to Plougher. She had long legs and big dark eyes, which were now fixed on Aífe. The mare's ears went flat against her head as she lowered her head and bared her teeth not unlike a dog.

Weird thing was – she had been the sweetest little thing while Alistair had been riding her, even to the point of enduring the long period in which he had tried to somehow adjust his weight and position to actually get comfortable. A quest, by the way, that was impossible to achieve. He had ridden a horse only a handful of times and on all of them he had left the saddle involuntarily. At least today he had done so of his own free will, although not in an overly elegant manner. Not in all that time and not even when his foot had gotten caught in the stirrup had the mare shown any aggression. Now, though, she looked ready to snap at Aífe any moment.

Alistair hesitated for a moment, turning his head to watch them. He almost shouted out a warning, but then Aífe put more distance between them, quietly saying something in a sharp voice, and Grimm joined his mistress, casting the mare a rather nasty look. The horse snorted and pawed at the ground with one hoof, but eventually averted her eyes.

When Alistair saw Aífe glancing up, he quickly returned his attention to the fire and braced his head on his free hand. Another thing he didn't quite get – the horse thing. One work horse and one of quite decent descent from the looks of her. He wouldn't ask, though, and that was fine. It was none of his business. As long as the mare didn't try to chew _his_ head off and no heads were chewed off in general, he should be fine with it, right? His thoughts wandered back to the first time he had ridden a horse – he'd been a small boy back then and he had probably only been allowed to finally get him to stop asking questions over questions. Plus, back then there had been ample opportunity. He had spent most of his days back in the stables. He could still remember the feeling. It had been thrilling, exhilarating. Sitting on a tall horse, a knight's horse, and feeling… great.

The two legs suddenly moving into his line of vision startled him. He tried to keep his attention on the flickering flames a little longer, but there was little point in doing so. The legs pretty much obscured his view of them. On purpose.

Reluctantly and very slowly he leaned back, bracing himself on his arms as he looked up. He hadn't needed to catch sight of a face to know all along whose legs they were. Even if they hadn't been in the middle of the forest, reducing the chances of random legs appearing in front of him, he would have known it. He didn't know many people that had the ability to slide into position almost soundlessly with a precision of movement that left you wondering if you had been caught too deep in your thoughts or if they had indeed appeared out of nowhere. He knew even less people that had the ability to make their legs look demanding. Adding to that the fact that the person belonging to the legs waited very patiently and strangely quietly for him to take the time and actually acknowledge her presence, it left only one possibility.

Of course the legs belonged to no other than Aífe. Her hair was still falling loosely around her shoulders, framing her face. Now that they had dried a bit, they looked lighter again, a dark blond that wasn't particularly noticeable. She looked a bit softer out here than she had back in Kirkwall – not by much, mind you, but the curl of her lips was more genuine and her shoulders less stiff. Perhaps it was just the lack of armour that made her look more approachable?

"May I sit with you?" Aífe asked once their eyes met. Alistair shrugged noncommittal and moved the fraction of an inch to the side.

She settled down next to him, ignoring his rudeness completely. Instead, she unwrapped the little pack of cloth she had brought and revealed a piece of cake. She had brought some together with the other provisions she had purchased when picking up the horses and they had eaten it earlier. Even while he was still wondering what she intended to do next, she offered it to him, hand outstretched.

"I brought you cake", she said and held up a spoon in the other hand.

"I already had some cake, thank you." It had taken him a moment to answer, having not seen that offer coming. He averted his eyes and returned his attention to the flames. They were dangerously low by now and for the most part only embers were left. He should probably add some wood to make sure the fire would at least keep burning for a little while longer. Perhaps he even had to look for firewood somewhere away from camp. Far away. A mile sounded good enough.

She made a sound in the back of her throat and stretched out her legs. He resisted the unbidden urge to stand up and stalk away. She vexed him and he had no idea way. No, that wasn't right. He knew partly why. Because she invaded his personal space, his personal life, his personal everything.

"I am not sure you quite understand", Aífe finally declared and he threw her a side-glance. She didn't give him the chance to say something, which was probably better anyway. "I did not bring you a cake. I brought you _my_ cake."

Alistair blinked, looking from the cake to her face. It was true, now that he thought about it, he had not seen her eat any. Why she had kept it for him, though, was beyond him. Quirking an eyebrow at her, he shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the fire.

"No, thanks," he said. He didn't feel like cake and especially not like talking. He felt like flight. Wasn't that a particularly nice looking log over there?

She didn't budge, which didn't surprise him much anyhow. He hadn't expected her to.

"Mm," she hummed, her eyes on him. He could practically feel her gaze on his skin and found it hard not to turn around to counter her stare. She'd go away eventually if he kept ignoring her. Wasn't that what you did when there was no escape? Play dead? That supposedly helped with bears. Maybe it helped with her, too.

"You are mad at me," Aífe said and it wasn't a question.

Against his better judgement he turned to look at her and opened his lips to answer, but then closed them again, unsure what to say. She was watching him, shoulders straight and her gaze unwavering. A strand of hair had gotten caught in one of the small creoles that pierced her right ear, distracting him momentarily.

Eventually he shrugged. "I'm not mad at you."

He wasn't sure whether he was indeed or not. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except that he felt like a leaf in the wind: Absolutely powerless, being steered this way and that by the powers that were. It was maddening, exhausting. He felt like a little boy again, absolutely powerless to decide his own fate. Talking to her wasn't helping.

"You are not _mad_ at me?" she asked and cocked her head to the side. "Or you are not mad _at_ me? Or, you are not mad at _me_?"

Alistair watched her wordlessly for a moment, regretting that he had not kept to the original plan of silence and subterfuge. It seemed so much easier to just roll over and let his tongue loll out, until she went away. The chance to do exactly that seemed to have gone by, though, and he had no idea what she was talking about. People were right. Hindsight was a nice thing to have but sadly unhelpful.

"That's an awful lot of intonation-variations," he said with a sigh.

"It is an awfully important topic," Aífe countered and tapped her fingers against the cloth holding the cake in thought, before she spoke again. "Should you be mad at me, I would understand you completely. I am mad at me too. We could be mad at me together."

The woman was slaying him. Logic had probably crawled under a stone to cry by now.

"Doesn't that defy the purpose?" he asked. He could feel a smile twitch around his lips and gave up fighting it down.

"Not if I have cake." For illustration, she produced the spoon again, holding it out to him. When he didn't take it right away, she wobbled it between her fingers.

"Where exactly does that piece of wisdom come from?" he wanted to know and she bit her lower lip, her gaze briefly lifting up to the sky as she was thinking.

"I think it might have started with my Nan. When she had spoken too harshly and felt bad about it – and it did not often happen that she was even aware of it, mind you – then she would sit me down and give me a piece of cake. A peace offering. A _tasty_ peace offering. She would not say a thing when doing so. It always worked," she explained finally and her look drifted back to Alistair. "I guess I am easy."

Which was the lie of the century. Whatever she was – and Alistair had by now started a small collection of words that could easily be put in context with one Aífe Cousland -, easy was not it.

"You are in this position through my fault and mine alone. I want you to know that if there was anything that would get you out of all this, I would do it." She put down the cake in front of him and stood up. "I was giving much thought to it in the last hours and considered all the connections that I have." She was pacing in front of him now, gesticulating as she walked. "I still think that the very best chance we have is to clear your name from the very core of the Crows, only this will ensure that you are indeed safe and can go on with your life without the constant threat of looming danger." Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. "Once we have cleared your name, I will arrange for you to go wherever you want to go or give you the coin for it, if you prefer. It will be as if nothing has ever happened."

She stopped abruptly and Alistair watched her carefully as she pressed the tips of her fingers together and turned towards him.

"I misjudged the situation. I brought you into danger, serious danger. I… made a mistake," she said and her voice sounded pressed. Alistair had no idea what to say to any of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again when he didn't know what to actually say. Was he mad at her for this? For – as she said it – bringing him into danger?

"I apologize for that. It was my fault." Her voice was quiet now, but her grey eyes bore into his. He wanted to look away but somehow couldn't. _Was_ he mad at her?

He swallowed. He wasn't upset about the Crows or being in danger. It wasn't something unfamiliar and truth be told, he wasn't overly afraid. There wasn't much left to lose. What he was upset about was-

Well. What he was upset about was to be pushed along a path that he hadn't chosen once again. There was no choice – no real choice at least. That was the point.

"If there is anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable with all this, please name it. I also want you to know that from here on out, I will make sure that you are safe and you do not need to do anything you do not want to do. You can just be our guest until we resolve the problem without getting into any additional danger. I know there is nothing good in all this for you – and trust me when I say that I spent much time trying to find at least one positive aspect about all of this and failed miserably. Anyhow, my point is, I will make sure that this will not cause you any more trouble, I will…," Aífe continued. She was still pacing in front of him, fingers pressed together, eyes looking at him every so often.

"It's not like I had to come back to you," he said and surprised himself with it. Eyes downcast and fixed on the waterskin he shrugged. He didn't want to meet her gaze. "When they were waiting for me and asked where to find you, I could've told them. I could've even invented something and sent them on their way and gone to the pub. I didn't, though."

She had stopped walking and stopped in front of him. Her legs were in his field of vision.

"Instead, I didn't answer at all. I fought them and after that, I searched for you to warn you." In a way that meant that perhaps he had made a sort of decision. Not one that he knew would lead to all this, but an active decision. He could have gone to drink and forget all about it. He hadn't, though, it hadn't even crossed his mind. "That means, you don't need to apologize. I came to you in the end."

Which – and that was the weird part – made it slightly more bearable. He had made a decision back then and he hadn't left and that felt better than being pulled along like a stubborn mule. It didn't mean he was okay with all this or even liked it, but it meant something.

Aífe was standing in front of him, fingers slowly unwinding, and then she went to sit down next to him again quietly. She remained like that for a moment and then leaned back with a sigh. "Thank you for everything."

He nodded slowly and set down the waterskin, lifting his eyes to look over the flames at Grimm, who had sat down not far from them and was watching them with great interest. The flames were mirrored in the dog's dark eyes. "Sure. Just try not to stumble into a blood mage convention along the way. I think we're all full up on deadly enemies."

"And here I was, wanting to apply for an honorary membership and all," Aífe answered and her lips twitched into a smile. He felt one pull at his lips as well. Even out of the corner of his eyes he could see her suppress a yawn forcefully and he remembered that during their ride she had almost fallen asleep on top of the horse and slipped off. Only Plougher's broad back and a bark from Grimm had saved her from that fate.

"Perhaps you should consider a Tevinter magister meeting for that purpose, I hear they are slightly more diplomatic. First, however, you should sleep," he suggested and saw the muscles in her jaw twitch as she once again fought down a yawn. She looked more tired by the minute.

"You have had a very long night and still need to recover. I can take first watch, you should sleep," she answered and he couldn't help it, he turned to face her, one eyebrow raised at her.

"Last time you slept properly?" he wanted to know.

She looked thoughtful, her gaze once again wandering upwards. "Define properly."

Smartass. He should have seen that one coming. "More than four hours in a bed without being sick, poisoned or stitched up."

At that she hummed and cocked her head to the side as if she had a hard time remembering. Which was probably not an act. Judging from how she looked, it had been a _while_ ago. To win some time she picked up the few remaining tiny branches and fed them to the fire.

"I am fine," she finally said as a way of answer and he looked from her at Grimm, who yawned without trying to hide it at all.

"Sleep. I'm not overly tired, I'll take first watch. I'll wake you when I get tired," Alistair promised and nodded towards her bedroll on the other side of the fire. She looked at it longingly, but still didn't move.

"There is still peace cake," she finally said and it sounded like a pretty weak argument.

"We can eat it later, when we're all awake. Go and sleep," he repeated. She needed it and they both knew it.

"I do not usually do this, tell you that I want you to be comfortable and then make you stay up and take first watch when you should rest," she murmured and rubbed her eyes with a sigh. "I really do not like doing this, but my bedroll over there looks so tempting and you keep looking at me pitifully and my toes are all cold, so if you are really, honestly sure that you would not mind it and you promise to wake me the very second you feel too tired-"

"Sleep!" Alistair interjected and nodded towards her bed roll once again.

She stood up hesitantly, eyes still on him, and fidgeted for a moment. He was almost sure she'd sit down again and continue arguing, but then she took a step away and then another one.

"Just wake me, yes? I am a light sleeper, I will be up and ready in no time!" she promised and only after he had assured her again that yes, he would wake her when he felt sleepy, she crawled between her blankets. He almost thought she had fallen asleep, when she spoke again.

"Hah!" she said triumphantly and sat up again.

"Hah?" Alistair inquired hesitantly. Grimm yawned and huffed loudly. He had settled down right next to her and curled around her. Now he lifted one paw and put it on his mistress' leg as if to beg her to go to sleep finally.

"I just realized there is one positive aspect about all of this for you!" She grinned and looked at him expectantly.

"Which is…?" he finally asked when she didn't say anything else.

"We're not in Orlais." She looked way too proud. In fact, she looked like she had just made a discovery worth at least a statue in the middle of a town to commemorate her.

He couldn't help it, he chuckled quietly and shook his head. Resisting the temptation to answer her, he watched her settle down again with the grin still on her lips. Judging from how soon she stopped shifting around and how quickly her breathing evened out, she was asleep in a matter of moments. The hound wasn't sleeping completely, his ears constantly turning and adjusting to catch even the quietest sounds around them.

Alistair remained like this for most of the day. He did feel tired, yes, but the taint made it easier to push that feeling aside and the previous night he had slept quite a while, which helped too. Only when the sun was again starting to set and neither Nelaros nor Aífe had woken by themselves did he decide to wake Aífe up.

He did so cautiously, very much so. Quietly he had moved more towards her and then, finally, he called her name.

He expected her to grab the dagger and slip out of the bedroll, ready to fight. He even expected her to have it as his throat snake-quick, conditioned by years of fear and paranoia. Over the years he had seen many people like this – old soldiers, veterans, sometimes even relatively young recruits. They slept with their knife under their pillow and reacted to the faintest sound, so much so, that you had to be genuinely careful when waking them.

Aífe Cousland did sleep with a dagger next to her hand, her fingers curled half-way around the hilt. She did, however, not shoot out of her bedroll and assault him. She also didn't grip her dagger fast and immediately move into a fighting position.

Instead, she breathed a heavy sigh, her lips parting slightly, and stretched one arm above her head as she shifted. For a brief moment her eyelids fluttered, then she nuzzled her arm and that was pretty much it.

Alistair, who had stepped back in anticipation of what was to come, looked at her in puzzlement. The fading sunlight painted patterns on her cheek and made her eyelashes cast long shadows. Through her shifting about, she had managed to fight the blanket down to her waist. A few toes were poking out at the other end of the blanket.

"Aífe?" he asked again, not as quiet anymore.

When it didn't net him any reaction, he carefully crouched down and stretched out a hand, softly touching her shoulder and shaking her ever so lightly. Then he immediately took a step back again to avoid being too close when she woke up.

Her eyelids fluttered again and opened this time, but Alistair noticed within a moment that her gaze looked completely vacant. Strands of hair were falling into her face and she shifted her eyes until she finally caught sight of him.

"Mm," she uttered and what little tension had kept her body upright basically evaporated. She dropped back onto the bedroll, eyelids lowering. She curled her toes tightly as she pulled her knees towards herself and somehow managed to have the biggest part of her body poke out from underneath the blanket despite that.

"You said I should wake you," he told her very quietly so as not to disturb Nelaros, even though the elf was probably sleeping deeply. His gaze drifted towards Grimm, who had gotten up and was now standing a few steps away, watching him intently. Alistair shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Huh," Aífe said this time, eyes already closed. "'m not hungry." She buried her head in the rolled up blanket that function as pillow and her breathing evened again, her toes slowly uncurling.

Alistair crouched down a few steps away from her and studied her nonplussed. When she sighed quietly and yet again stretched one arm over her head, before she completely settled down, he shook his head. Light sleeper, she'd said. Just wake me up, she'd said.

After a few moments, he started to chuckle, eventually leaning back and looking up at the sky as quiet laughter took over. He'd never met a person with such a collection of little noises – or such condensed disarray.

It took him a while before he had calmed down and when he did, he looked at her again, watching the rhythmic fall and rise of her chest. She probably hadn't slept properly in days – not since the night he had met her and perhaps not even before. As things were, exhaustion had probably taken over and completely knocked her out, now that she considered them all to be in a safe place. Which ultimately meant, she considered _him_ safe.

Raking a hand through his hair, he came to the realization that he had a problem. Sitting here, looking at her… he really couldn't find it in himself to be _mad_ at her. Or _at_ her. Or at _her_. Whichever.

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**Author's Comment:  
><strong>So, this is later than expected - buuuut, at least it is quite long-ish and I hope it actually brings some development and has a few bits and pieces that you will like. =) I actually like how this turned out, both with the symbols (at least those I kinda kept in mind while writing) and the themes I had in mind.  
>I want to thank my awesome reviewers very, very much: <strong>alyssacousland, EkoCentric, Pollyanna24,<strong> **reality deviant, Melysande** and all of you who are following and favouring this. :) It means A LOT to me, really, and it motivates me whenever I read your reviews. A big thanks also to **alyssacousland** for beta-reading and to both you and **Eynla** for giving me your opinion about this!  
>I hope that the Christmas holidays will finally allow me to look through all the chapters again and correct the mistakes I found and that some of you were nice enough to point out to me - thanks for that, too! :)<p>

The next chapter haaaas - a little surprise. Hopefully. ;) And nudity. Heh. Just not the one you'll have in mind.


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